


Transformare

by iulia_linnea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: reversathon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_linnea/pseuds/iulia_linnea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the face of loss and transformation, Harry learns that, however ill-expressed, "love is an ever-fixed mark."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reddwarfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/gifts).



> This Girl!Harry Snarry fic was originally posted under the sub-pseudonym of Euphorbia Sidlewize on 17 July 2006 to the [HP Reversathon](http://reversathon.livejournal.com/60587.html) as a gift for Penelope Wagtail/[reddwarfer](http://reddwarfer.livejournal.com/profile). Thank you, [eaivalefay](http://eaivalefay.livejournal.com/profile), Mom, [rhiandra](http://rhiandra.livejournal.com/profile), Shog, [stasia](http://stasia.livejournal.com/profile), and [yarn_girl](http://yarn-girl.livejournal.com/profile), for beta'ing. Commissioned illustrations by [reallycorking](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile).

Ron and Hermione walked out of the Three Broomsticks hand in hand, lightly humming the campaign- _cum_ -victory song that their friends were still riotously singing inside the pub. A mild May evening, it was the third anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, the second anniversary of their wedding, and the first-month anniversary of their having received some welcome news.

"Molly knows," Hermione said, after they had walked as far as the Shrieking Shack.

Ron squeezed her hand. "Mum's like you. She knows everything."

They stopped their progress before their builders' sign—"Longbottom-Lovegood: Construction, Deconstruction, and Reconstruction"—and gazed up the hill at what would eventually become their home.

"I hope they can meet our revised time-table."

"I'm sure they can, Professor _Granger-_ Weasley," Ron teased.

"Does it bother you?"

"Don't let Fleur's comment bother you," Ron said, turning toward Hermione and pulling her into a hug. "She was only needling you the way she does everyone."

"'Ow modern of you'," Hermione retorted, mimicking her sister-in-law. "You'd think she'd have got over it by now."

"If she had kids . . . ."

"It's sad, isn't it? How hard she tries to be a 'proper' wife because she can't be a mother?"

Ron pulled back and smiled sadly into Hermione's eyes. "It is that, but Bill doesn't mind. We should try not to."

"What we should try to do is find someone for Gabrielle. She was practically falling into poor Harry's lap tonight."

"Harry never notices that sort of thing."

"Well, something made him leave."

Ron took Hermione's hand and led her toward and through the rickety gate that marked the edge of their property and then continued up the hill. "Let's get a better look at what's been done."

"Shouldn't we go after him?"

"What for? D'you want to get snapped at?"

"We could tell him," Hermione suggested, stopping to look at a pile of lumber. "It looks as though Neville and Luna are planning to rebuild the entire house from scratch, doesn't it?"

"They very nearly are—Bundimun damage is an ugly thing." _But not as expensive to fix as buying a new place_. "I thought you wanted to wait to tell people."

"But this is Harry, and it's an awful time of year for him. I think it would help him, hearing some happy news."

Ron snorted. "It would help him to get laid instead of taking out all his frustration on the dart board. I thought that last round would have him aiming at Snape's head."

"Civility might be too much to hope for there," Hermione replied, turning her head to examine the boarded front door. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Shh. Listen."

A low slow creaking was emanating from the Shrieking Shack.

Ron drew his wand. "I think someone's inside. Go back down the hill while I—"

Hermione grabbed Ron's wand arm and protested, "Oh no you don't—it could be the foundation. Luna says that the strengthening charms take days to set, and I'm not having you crushed by our new house."

"It could be thieves, and I'm not having any of the supplies nicked," Ron replied, striding around to the back and grumbling about his inadequate Auror's salary with Hermione in tow. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Got the de-warding key with you?"

"I don't think we'll need it."

Startled by the fact that Hermione now had her wand out, Ron turned to find that what had been the back door was strewn over the step in splinters.

"Wait here," Ron hissed.

"No!"

"Hermione Weasley, don't argue with me!"

"I knew it bothered you that I hyphen—"

CRACK!

"What the hell?" Ron yelled, seizing Hermione by the shoulders and dragging her away from the shack as a loud cry of "Fuck it!" rang out from within.

"That sounded like Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, jerking out of Ron's grasp and rushing headlong into the house.

"Hermione, don't!" Ron called, sprinting after her.

~*~

Harry regained consciousness to find his body limned in the magic that had prevented him from being crushed by two storeys of Shrieking Shack. Beyond the barrier of his power, he could see nothing for the dust motes swirling thickly in the air—but he could hear a faint moaning.

 _Perhaps it's just me_ , he thought, rubbing his head and attempting to concentrate on the sound despite the vague disorientation that always accompanied the swathing of himself in his reinforced aura.

He had never got used to the sensation, even though he had employed the technique on many occasions since absorbing it from Voldemort's mind. 

_Too bad I wasn't faster with it_ , Harry thought, straining to hear what was making the noise amidst the wreckage. _Ron's going to kill_ —

"No!"

"Ron?" Harry called, his sense of alarm making him careless as he threw off his protection and struggled to sit up. "Ron! Where are you?"

A choked sort of wailing was the only response. It led Harry over fractured timber and chunks of plaster toward what had been the front of the shack. There, he found Ron curled up around Hermione's limp body, stroking her hair.

A jagged board was protruding through Ron's torso.

Harry felt his gorge rise at the sight, and he froze as he realized that Hermione's limbs were bending in too many places. "No one has that many joints."

"H—Harry?" Ron asked, gurgling his question more than asking it as blood bubbled out of his mouth. "Harry, he—elp us."

As it often did in moments of crisis, time slowed for Harry and his vision became hyper-focused: he could see every cut, scrape, bruise, gouge, and break that marred his friends' bodies, every smear of dirt and blood, every line of pain, and a screaming filled his mind that perversely separated him from the horrific reality with which he was faced. 

_I was just working on the strengthening charms. I was just trying to help. I didn't mean to lose control. I didn't mean to—oh, God. Is that a board sticking out of_ — 

It took less than a second for Harry to think these things, but that was time enough to permit him to begin processing his shock. He had learned the technique on his own during the war.

"H—help."

"Fuck!" Harry yelled, quickly digging through the bits of house toward Ron and Hermione and throwing detritus behind himself as he went. 

"Take her," Ron ordered, visibly paling. "Get them . . . out of here."

"Not yet!" Harry exclaimed, trying to arrange his hands around the board jutting out of his friend's stomach in a way that would stop the bleeding until Ron, with surprising strength, seized one of Harry's wrists.

"'M dead."

"Don't say tha—"

"Dead!" Ron snarled, his fingernails breaking Harry's skin. "I'm dead, but . . . Her. Mi. O. Ne's not," he wheezed. "Our baby's . . . not. Hospital."

"Hermione's pregnant?"

"Pre—pregnant," Ron affirmed, releasing his hold on Harry. "Please . . . save my . . . save her. Save baby," Ron pleaded, gasping out the words while Harry scrambled to uncover Hermione.

"I'll Apparate her to—"

" _Pregnant_."

"Shit! Right. I'll Apparate you fir—" 

"No time."

Harry already knew that he was going to obey Ron, but that did not stop him from saying, as he lifted Hermione, "I can't leave you. I won't."

Ron grazed Hermione's forehead with his lips as she left his arms and promised, "If you . . . let them die, I'll . . . I'll hate you."

Harry was suddenly straddling his broom.

"Neat . . . trick," Ron said, smiling weakly and fumbling next to himself in the wreckage.

Physically adjusting Hermione into a more secure position because he did not trust himself to use any charms, Harry begged, "Just hang on. You just—"

"Justine, yeah—nice one."

"What?"

"Justine. Good name. Hermione would've . . . liked it," Ron said, shakily pointing his wand at Harry's broom. 

"No! You're too wea—"

Ron's spell hit the broom and sent it flying almost too quickly for Harry to control without dropping Hermione, and Harry knew that Ron had cast it because his friend and partner had thought it was the only way he could force Harry to move quickly enough to save his wife and unborn daughter—but wizards near death who used magic almost always died from the strain of it, and Harry also knew that he would never forgive himself for having forced Ron into the action.


	2. Chapter 2

The waiting room of St. Mungo's Emergency ward was a roiling sea of predominantly red hair as Administrator Percy Weasley Floo'd into it through Charlie's head in the hearth. Brushing himself off, Percy saw that his mother and father were questioning the harried medistaff at the intake desk with Alicia looking worriedly on; Bill, Fred, George, and Angelina were in an altercation with Rita Skeeter in front of the door that led to the Apparation courtyard; Ginny and Fleur were minding sleeping, screaming, and belching children; and Charlize, Charlie's wife, was standing a little to the side of the room with her hand on Neville Longbottom's shoulder while he stared disconsolately beyond a gesticulating Skeeter at his wife, who was twirling one radish earring slowly between her fingers. Straightening up and ignoring Charlie's panicked, fire-called questions, Percy strode toward the entrance and seized Skeeter by the arm, pulling her through the door and into the Apparation courtyard.

"Take your hands off—"

"Miss Skeeter," Percy interrupted, shoving the reporter onto the Apparation point, "leave now, or be Vanished."

Skeeter, who knew better than almost anyone about Percy Weasley's war-time role and spell of choice, elected to Disapparate without further protest.

"Make yourselves useful and find a healer for Luna. She's in shock," Percy ordered his family members, before turning on his heel and approaching the intake desk. "Mum," he said, a bit loudly to cut through her argument with Stevenson and Banks, the two medistaffers on duty, "the girls could use your help with the children."

"But they won't tell us anything!"

"Percy," Arthur said, placing his hands on Molly's shoulders to steady her, "we know that Harry brought them here and that they're with the healers. Could you find out more?"

"That's why I'm here," Percy replied, nodding as he headed behind the desk and through to the back, trying to ignore the hurt he was feeling at having not been summoned to the hospital by his family.

When he had achieved the corridor off of which the examination rooms were laid, he stopped and took a deep breath. _You can do this. You have to do this. It's your sodding job to do this, Weasley_.

"Administrator Weasley!" a mediwitch called to him from the threshold of Emergency Room Five, "we could use your help. We can't get him to leave your sister-in-law's side, and it's a bit cramped in there."

"What's her condition, Frances?" Percy asked, moving toward her.

"You'd best prepare yourself, sir. It's bad."

" _Specifics_."

Frances jumped at Percy's snap. "She's suffering breaks to her back, legs, and right arm. Her left hand is crushed, she's concussed, there's internal bleeding, and we're not certain we'll be able to stabilize her in time to save the baby."

Percy stopped walking and swallowed, hard. When Stevenson had fire-called him, she had not mentioned anything about Hermione being pregnant. 

"Ron's already stabilized? His injuries weren't severe?"

"Sir, your brother . . . hasn't been see—"

"Then why haven't you had a medistaffer restrain him for examination?"

"You don't understand—it isn't your brother in there. It's Healer Krum. He won't—"

Percy walked past Frances and into the room to find Viktor clutching Hermione's hand while Healer Spriggs and his assistants worked around him within the sterile field that had been automatically generated about the witch. "Viktor!" 

"She's dying, Percy. She's—"

"Not. Your. Wife."

The room fell utterly silent.

"Frances," said Percy, "please take Healer Krum to my office and keep him apprised of . . . ."

"Sir," Frances replied crisply, following the path of Percy's eyes and understanding perfectly his distress.

When Viktor had left the room, Healer Spriggs said, "I'll know more when she's stable."

"Who's treating my brother?"

The noise level in the room, which had been climbing, dipped again.

"Krum was treating your brother, Administrator Weasley," Spriggs told him softly, never taking his eyes off his task.

Percy froze. _Frances has never been any good at giving bad news, has she_? "Well, I'll leave you to it."

He just made it to the loo before he was ill.

It was almost a relief to Percy, sometime later, to feel the chill air of the morgue against his face when he entered it—feeling like a coward. He had not told his family, after he had collected himself and consulted with Frances about the need to summon someone from the Spellcraftres' Guild, about Ron; he had focused instead on reporting Hermione's condition and then left to make some urgent fire-calls. 

To save Hermione's baby would take extraordinary measures, measures which Percy knew might not work even if a surrogate could be found on such short notice—virgins who were willing to become pregnant on behalf of other witches being rather rare—but he had done what he could. Now, all he could do was wait. 

He would wait with Ron.

 _With Ron's body_ , he corrected himself. "No, with my baby . . . with my baby brother."

His tears surprised him, but soon, Percy realized that he was not the only one crying. Looking around, he saw that the antechamber of the morgue was empty, which meant that the sobbing he was hearing was coming from inside the morgue proper.

 _That's Harry_. 

Percy had forgot about Harry, which irked him. He hated forgetting anything. 

_It's not right that he should be alone_ , Percy thought, pushing open the door that led to the room in which Ron's blue-lipped, waxen-faced body was lying on an industrial-looking metal table. 

_Oh, gods_.

Harry was clutching Ron's hand in much the same manner that Viktor had been clasping Hermione's.

~*~

"I'm sorry."

Viktor's words kept repeating themselves in Harry's mind, as did everything that had happened up to the point of hearing them as Harry knelt by Ron's body and clutched his friend's hand, praying that it would grow warmer.

He had eventually steadied his broom and himself and made for Hogwarts, where he had known that, if Madam Pomfrey could not heal Hermione, then she would be able to help him Floo Hermione to St. Mungo's. 

"She can't be Floo'd, but I've a Portkey. Get Ronald. I'll see to Hermione."

Harry had immediately returned to the Shrieking Shack to find Severus, Neville, and Luna carefully bearing Ron's body out of the wreckage.

"Mr. Potter," Severus had greeted him somberly.

"Ron," Harry had mouthed, leaping off his broom and running forward to take his friend's body into his arms.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sor—"

"St. Mungo's—he should be with his wife," Harry had told them, ignoring Neville's attempt to apologize and Disapparating.

When Harry had appeared in the Apparation courtyard, Krum had tossed away his fag with an exclamation of alarm and begun screaming for medistaffers, screaming orders—screaming, there had been so much screaming as Harry had followed everyone inside.

And then those quiet words of Viktor's had sliced through the white noise in Harry's head: "I'm sorry."

 _Oh, God, I'm sorry, too. Ron. Ron, I'm_ —

"Harry."

— _sorry. I didn't mean to kill you. I'm sorry. Ron, please, you have to know that—_

"Harry," someone said, and a warm slender hand was suddenly on his shoulder. "Harry, I think we should have a healer examine you. Ron . . . Ron won't mind."

"P—Percy?" Harry asked, as he felt someone begin to uncurl his bloodless fingers from around Ron's hand. 

It took him a moment to realize that the person doing so was Percy.

"No. I want to stay with him—he's so cold," Harry said, beginning to rub Ron's fingers.

" _Accio blanket_!"

Percy's words echoed over-loud in the room, but a dull, gray-colored blanket came floating toward them after a few moments.

"Here," Percy said, pulling the blanket out of the air and unfurling it over Ron's body. "Let me cover him. His . . . his hands should go underneath the blanket, as well."

"But I—"

"Want him to be warm. I know. Come on, Harry. Help me."

Reluctantly, Harry released Ron's hand and tucked the edge of the blanket under Ron's body. 

"There, now he's warm."

The absurdity of treating a morgue like a bedchamber knocked Harry partially out of shock. He turned his head in Percy's direction and tried to speak, but words failed him.

"He's warm now. We should go."

 _He'll never be warm again_. "He's dead." _And I killed him_.

"I know that, Harry."

"I killed him."

"The hell you did!"

The vehemence in Percy's tone startled Harry, but he persisted. "I killed both of them."

"Stop it. Hermione needs you."

"Hermione's not . . . ?"

"I won't lie to you," Percy answered, laying his hands on Harry's shoulders. "She might not survive."

Harry began to tremble violently but was steadied by the increase in pressure of Percy's hold on him.

"There may be a way to save the baby."

"How?"

"Come with me now, all right? We can talk upstairs."

"I can't . . . . I can't face them."

"Then let's go say goodbye to Hermione."

"You'd come with me?" _You'd do that for me when I killed Ron_?

"Of course."

Emergency Room Five was empty when Harry and Percy arrived there, but the mediwizard putting it to rights directed them to one of the critical care rooms.

Harry flinched at the sight of Hermione's battered face reflecting the light of the diagnostic charms, but Percy's steady, quiet presence made it possible for him to enter the room.

A hushed voice behind them asked, "Administrator Weasley, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Will you be all right?" Percy asked Harry.

"I should be asking you that."

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

Harry dimly heard the swish of Percy's trouser legs rubbing together as he left, but snatches of the wizard's conversation reached him as he pulled up a chair and rested his head on the edge of Hermione's bed.

"—yes, sir, but there's been no word from . . . ."

"I know that, Florence, but what about . . . ."

"—refuses because . . . ."

"That's nonsense! Why can't . . . emergency, damn it!"

"I'm so sorry, sir."

"No. I refuse to accept—"

"Percy?" Harry asked, the wizard's obvious distress having moved him to interrupt. "Is there something I can do?"

Harry knew that people might not refuse him—or his name—whatever it was that Percy needed.

"Florence has found a surrogate at the Salem Institute of Medicine in the States—"

"A surrogate?" Harry asked.

Percy answered, "Someone to carry Hermione's ba—"

"But she's not dead."

"Mrs. Granger-Weasley's injuries make it impossible," the mediwitch explained, "for her to carry her child to term."

"But Salem's Magical Obstetrics director is refusing to allow the surrogate to assist because he thinks it would be 'a waste of resources' to attempt foetal transplantation when the mother—"

A shrill alarm rang out.

"Excuse me," Florence said, rushing into Hermione's room, only to be quickly followed by several other medistaffers.

"Fuck!" yelled Percy, seizing handfuls of his hair. "Fuck! This is not happening!"

Harry was horrified by Percy's sudden loss of control, terrified by it, in fact, but he managed to push his horror down deeply within himself so that he could think. _They need a witch to carry Hermione's baby. They think they can do it. They just need a witch_.

He stared at the now-closed door to Hermione's room, stared through it as if it were glass—that was one of Voldemort's skills, one of the many magics Harry had gleaned from ripping the Dark Lord's mind apart—and pressed himself against the far wall of the corridor for support as he leafed through the metaphysical book into which he, with his healer's help, had "written" all such knowledge before it could drive him insane. 

He thought he remembered something within it that might help, and Ron's promise, " _If you let them die, I'll hate you_ ," spurred him on as he half-watched the desperate efforts to save Hermione.

 _I can't fail Ron. I mustn't fail Ron. Ron, I won't let you hate me. I won't_! _It's here. I know it's_ —

"Get out of the way, Weasley!" a harsh voice ordered, cutting through Harry's frantic mental paging by virtue of its very familiarity.

Harry ignored the voice and refocused on his task.

 _Yes_! _I've found it_! _I can do it_. _It will only be for a few mo_ —

"Potter! Make yourself use—"

"Percy!" Harry cried, triumphant and terrified, as Percy, pushed there by Severus, fell into his arms. "I've found it! The spell—I've found a way to be the surrogate!"

"Wha—"

"HARRY!" Severus roared, throwing himself back out into the corridor and at Harry, "don't—"

" _Cambiō sexus_!" 

"—cast that spell!" Severus almost shrieked, too late reaching over the stumbling Percy in an attempt to press his hands against Harry's mouth.

  
**[Don't Cast that Spell](http://corkart.livejournal.com/4188.html)** , by [reallycorking](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)  
(Commissioned in 2006, this artwork is solely for my own use.)

Harry threw the wizards off, an unparalleled sensation of exhilaration rushing through his veins, and grinned. Severus looked shocked and furious; that was nothing new, but Harry did not understand why Percy appeared so frightened.

"Don't you see? I'm going to be the surrogate. It's . . . it's all right," he assured Percy. "I'll carry Hermione's ba—"

Suddenly, it felt to Harry as if his bones were liquefying; his knees buckled.

Severus caught him before he could fall and growled, "You idiot! The spell is ' _ex_ cambiō sexus'—have you any idea what it is that you've done?" 


	3. Chapter 3

"'Unprecedented' is one way to put it," Severus replied to Highmaster Spellen Spurlock, as he and the older wizard left the Spellcraftres' Guild's second quarter meeting and walked out onto the grounds to take the warm June air. "Typical Gryffindor idiocy would be another."

"Easy now. My wife's a fine example of that house."

"Grimalda, at least, had the presence of mind to marry above herself."

Spellen snorted. "And a Slytherin? Well, we all make mistakes, but I'd hardly call what Potter has done idiotic. To be frank, I was more surprised by your actions—emergency magical transfusion? Quitting hospital weak as you were? Taking a leave of absence to work on Potter's case? You very well could have died, donating magic under such circumstances."

"I didn't."

"Yes, and I'm glad because then I would've been forced to mourn your absence for far longer than the period of your recovery."

"You would have missed my authoritative presence in meetings."

"These past few weeks have been a right pain in my hairy old arse, but I expect they were much the same for you."

"You have a rare gift for understatement," Severus replied, distractedly. _If I'd done what Potter wanted, he'd never have been able to put himself in this position. Damned fool_! 

"How was St. Mungo's?"

"Barely adequate. We should arrange a training program for the medistaffers. I've never seen a more disorganized—"

"Spare me the rant about St. Mungo's medistaffers. I want to know about Potter's condition."

"Potter hasn't regained consciousness since her transformation—she has no idea that her change in sex is _permanent_."

"Ah, so the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's alteration of Potter's personnel file was more than mere efficiency?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you read the papers? Rita Skeeter reported it days ago. Shacklebolt made Potter a woman."

"How did Skeeter discover that?" 

"I don't know, but now everyone's falling all over themselves to understand how Potter bewitched herself."

"I thought Skeeter had been arrested," Severus replied, ignoring Spellen's sally for information.

"She was, but her people had her released almost at once after the witch signed an agreement not to 'step foot or feeler' in St. Mungo's."

Severus gave a grudging half-snort. "It's the first I've heard of it. I've been too busy to keep up with such 'news'."

"Somehow, I've found time to follow it. Did you know that the company responsible for the reconstruction of the Weasley home had its license revoked?"

"Longbottom has always been a menace."

"Perhaps so, but his grandmother's Howler campaign got him his license re-issued within a matter of days, so there must not have been any truth to the rumor that the collapse was to do with him."

"I know nothing of construction charms, but I believe that Potter will be inclined to blame herself for the accident."

"She takes things upon herself in that way?"

"It's sport with Potter to do so."

"You know, the papers have been circulating rumors about Potter's unrequited love for Mrs. Granger-Weasley, which would certainly explain the depth of loyalty it must have taken for him to become a her."

"Spellen," Severus replied, with some force, "I taught Harry Potter for almost six years, protected him, fought beside him—he was never interested in Hermione Granger—he's a poof."

"Takes one to know one?"

Severus stopped walking. "I dated your granddaughter."

"Yes, after my grand- _nephew_ grew bored of your—how did he put it? Ah, 'tantrums', that's right."

"If you'll excuse me, Highmaster Spur—"

"I will not. Something's on your mind, and I won't have you banging away in your lab breaking things because you were too tight-arsed to talk about it when I gave you the chance."

 _It's hard to understand how you and Albus could have been friends_ , Severus thought, sighing. "If you must know, Albus would kill me if he could see how badly I've failed Potter."

"Ah. The Epithet Syndrome, is it?"

"What?"

"You appear to be suffering from a bad case of 'Hero—"

"Would you stop—"

"—ism' with a capital aitch. Did Miss Potter catch it from you?"

"I should have Obliviated Potter after he destroyed the Dark Lord when I had the chance." _When he begged me to_.

"Sex alteration spells weren't unique to that knob-polishing piece of filth."

"But Potter wouldn't have known any had I—"

"Potter was an adult when he cast his spell, and it's no longer your job to protect her. Shite. The pronoun use is a problem, isn't it?"

"I don't find it so," Severus mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Potter was in shock when he 'chose' to do as he did. How do you imagine she'll feel when she discovers that she'll never be a wizard again—and that the child she's carrying may be taken from her?"

"So you do read the papers."

Annoyed by Spellen's teasing, Severus stalked farther down the path and thought, _If Molly Weasley doesn't petition for guardianship of the child, Fleur Weasley surely will. Would Harry be able to bear that after losing so much_? _Could Harry even manage the care of a child on her own if she were permitted to keep_ —

"Severus."

"Forgive me, Spellen. I'm still tired from—"

"Severus. Look at me."

Severus obeyed Spellen, not because he was his superior, not because he was his friend, but because he had come to view him in light of an irreverent, vulgar father-figure. 

_Working with a man while dating your way through his family will cause that, I suppose_.

In that moment, however, it did not matter to Severus how he had come to trust the rather eccentric wizard; he only knew that he felt desperate for some form of paternal guidance—any form of it.

"Yes?"

"I'm placing you on administrative leave again, effective immediately."

"Why? I'm perfectly capable of—"

"You are supremely capable, but that's not the point. You're suffering on behalf of your friend, and she's going to need you with her."

"Harry and I have never been—"

"Shittin'ell, Severus! There is something between you! I saw Potter's testimony at your trial, and I know you've played more than darts with him."

"How clever of you to be so astonishingly well-informed."

"I always have been, which is why Albus made me his friend, and I think the old plonker would've been chuffed to know you'd got your leg over Potter—he always said the two of you were like peas in the same angry pod—but we were talking about your 'game-playing'."

"No, we weren't! And what the hell business is it of yours if Potter despises me, regardless of whatever occasional drunken heedlessness has caused him to—"

"'Has caused him to' how many times?"

 _Enough to get my hopes up_. "It doesn't matter, Spellen. He's not interested in _me_."

 _Ah, no wonder my Priscilla and Archie couldn't hold your interest_ , Spellen thought, clapping a hand on Severus' shoulder. _You're already spoken for without ever having spoken_. "Your maudlin navel-gazing seems to have blinded you to the obvious."

"What might that be?"

"The field is clear now."

Severus flinched. "You and Albus shared far more than a capacity for gathering information."

"Life is pain. You know that—but it's also a pleasure when seized."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. "Tell me, is there a point to your convoluted aphoristical philosophizing?"

 _Oh, I do know my onions—the boy's taking refuge in high diction_. "Indeed there is: hoist your standard, Severus. It's past time you declared yourself."

~*~

Harry felt as though he were suspended in a thick syrup; his limbs were heavy and difficult to move, and his skin felt too moist, as though something viscous was sliding over his face and neck. He did not like it. Struggling to move, he began to focus on the sounds surrounding him, odd buzzes and chirps which he could barely perceive.

He realized, after some effort, that the noises were voices.

"I'll do it, Fleur," snapped an older female voice. "You're putting on too much."

"Eet eez not too much. Her skin will become dry from zis dreadful air if—"

"Pardon me," a new voice interjected, "but one of you is going to have to leave. Healer Spriggs left orders that only two visitors at a time were permitted Miss Potter."

"We are only three." the French-accented voice complained.

"Even so. The healing wards are rather delicate."

 _Fleur_ , thought Harry. _Why is she—wait. Did one of them just say_ ' _Miss_ '?

Suddenly, the cool stickiness that had been spreading over Harry's skin stopped and time seemed to stretch.

"It . . . it worked," Harry whispered.

"I should tell them that she's awake, sir."

"Don't. Spriggs will want to examine her first."

 _Severus_ , Harry thought, still unable to open his eyes and thinking it was bizarre to hear anyone refer to him as "her." _But I am a_ " _her_ ," _aren't I_? _I might as well try and get used to thinking about myself as one, at least, for now_.

"Stop thrutching about, Potter. The healing wards are restraining you."

Harry became aware of a lessening of pressure around herself and was then able to move her body and open her eyes.

"You always loom," she accused Severus, who was frowning down at her. "Where did Mrs. Weasley go?"

Severus' frown deepened. "Molly hasn't been here since this morning."

"Fleur?"

"She left with Molly. You're disorient—"

"Did it work?" Harry asked, clutching Severus' arm.

"Your change of—"

"No—the baby, Justine—am I carrying Ron's baby?"

"You've . . . already named the child?"

"Ron did," Harry replied, struggling to sit up and finding herself surprised when Severus helped her and then sat down on the edge of her bed. "He told me when . . . . Why can't I get upset? Shouldn't I be upset?"

"Calming draught—and you're welcome."

"So, am I pregnant?"

"You're sixteen days pregnant with an approximately two-month-old foetus."

"Sixteen days? How long did the procedure take, anyway?"

"Fifty minutes, but the strain of your thoughtless transformation required that you be magically transfused to prepare you for surrogacy. That's why you're feeling off."

Harry wanted to feel elated but found it impossible. "I feel like there's cotton in my head."

"I'm sure that's . . . normal."

"You don't sound sure."

"Nothing about this situation is sure. Tell me, why couldn't you have waited?"

"For what?"

"For a virgin to be secured—there was no reason to exchange your bollocks for a womb when . . . when Ginny Weasley was—"

"Surrogates have to be virgins?" Harry asked, shaking her head. _Is that my hair_? Drawing a hand through her softer locks in fascination, she continued, "I didn't know that," while trailing her hands down her neck toward her breasts. "Oh, that's—"

"Stop it," Severus reprimanded Harry, pulling her hands away from her nipples.

"Ginny has nice ones, too—hers are smaller, though."

Severus groaned. "It's a good thing you're carrying the Weasleys' granddaughter, talking like that."

Harry giggled. "That's weird. I sound like a girl."

"You are a girl."

"Yeah, well, it's good I am one, 'cause Ginny hasn't been a virgin since Nev—"

"Would you keep still?" Severus demanded, seizing Harry's roaming hands.

"Why are you here, Snape?" Harry asked crossly, lying back down. "You've never wanted to stay in my bed this long before."

Severus drew himself up. "Be grateful that you're a pretty witch because your new manner leaves—"

"Miss Potter," a stout wizard with a face like a bulldog interrupted, "I'm glad to find you awake. Let's have a look at you, shall we?"

Harry looked at the wizard, who she assumed was a healer, and asked, "What's wrong with Snape?"

"My. Name. Is. Severus," Severus ground out between clenched teeth, before storming from the room.

"You said never to call you that," Harry sang back. "You know, I do feel 'off'."

"I imagine so, young lady."

"Lady. Young lady. Young pregnant lady. Wow, I really did it—why is my throat sore? Who are you? Is Justine all right? God, I'm fagged."

"You've been through a great deal in a short period of time," the healer replied, smiling slightly as he ran his wand over Harry, "but it looks as though everything's fine." Putting down his wand, the man offered Harry his hand, "I'm Richard Spriggs, Miss Potter, and you're in perfect health—as is the baby you're carrying."

"I'm glad," Harry said. "I hoped it would work. Does Hermione know? Is she angry with me? There wasn't time to ask her and—"

"There are people here to see you," Spriggs interrupted, looking uncomfortable. "Would you like to see them?"

"Who's 'people'?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, several Weasley children, spouses of Weasleys, and various other Weasley admirers of yours. It's no wonder, given your thaumaturgical performance. Of course, perhaps it would be best if we kept your visitors away for a while."

Harry yawned and asked, "Is Percy . . . Percy . . . ."

"Weasley?" asked Spriggs.

"Yeah, him. Is he out there?" 

"Administrator Weasley hasn't quit the hospital since you were admitted. I'll send for him. Try to get some kip. You need it. What you did could have killed you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Now then, here are a few rules: no Appara—"

"I already know that."

"Good. No using magic, either, at least for a while. There are too many magiceuticals running through your veins to make it safe for you to work magic. Understand?"

Harry wanted to say that she did, but her eyes began to droop.

When she opened them again, Percy was sitting by her bed.

"Hello, Harry."

"It worked."

Percy smiled. "I know, and I can't express my gratitude strongly enough."

"You don't have to say that to me. Ron's my best friend. I'd do anything for—oh. Ron _was_ my best . . . ." 

The calming draught seemed to have worn off some; Harry felt grief roll through her body up into her throat, making it momentarily impossible to speak of the impossible. _Ron's dead. I didn't save him_. "Sorry, Percy."

"It wasn't your fault. The inspectors say that the strengthening charms failed because of unforeseen interference."

"What . . . what does that mean?"

"Lycanthropic transformations are magical, too. They leave trace amounts of disruptive magic, which usually disperses, but—"

"Remus used the shack a lot."

"Yes. . . . Apparently, the various enchantments set into the shack to hide that fact concentrated the lycanthropic energy, and that interfered with Neville and Luna's efforts."

"Fuck. They must blame themselves. Have you talked to them?"

"Don't worry about Neville and Luna, Harry. There's something we have to discuss before the others see you."

"What?"

"Florence and I forged your name to a Scroll of Permission for Procedure so that the hospital's Board of Ethics would permit us to—"

"Don't worry, Percy. I'll say it was me."

"Well," Percy replied, staring across Harry's room and out the window. "Well."

"Percy? The healer wouldn't answer my question about Hermione."

"She died, Harry. She and Ron were buried ten days ago. We wanted to wait, but—I'm sorry."

Harry gulped in a breath. "Thanks for telling me. God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sleep so long."

"Don't apologize, not for anything. What you've done is . . . what you've done, none of us will ever forget. You're carrying my niece, for Merlin's sake."

Harry slowly moved her hand over her belly and rested it there, not needing to feel a bump to know that she was pregnant, and the knowledge that what she had done had worked was enough to keep her calm.

 _Don't lie to yourself. You know it's the calming draught_ , Harry thought, wondering how she would feel when the healers stopped giving it to her. "So, what happens now?"

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Usually, a surrogate surrenders custody of the child she's carrying at the end of her pregnancy, but . . . well, with Ron and Hermione gone—look, perhaps this can wait," Percy interrupted himself, rising. "I should—"

"I'll have to quit."

"What?"

"I understand, Percy. I know I can't be an Auror and have a baby at the same time. It would be unfair. I didn't even think about it before—I just knew I had to do something to save Justine. At least she'll be too young when I change back to be confused by it."

"When you change back," Percy said flatly. "Oh. Yes, of course. I should get Severus."

"He's gone. He was acting like I'd exploded a cauldron, earlier."

"That was yesterday, I think, but Severus isn't gone. He's part of your mediteam, and he hasn't left the hospital since you were admitted."

 _That's what Spriggs said about you_ , Harry thought, feeling oddly reassured to know that Percy, who had worked with Snape during the war—back when everyone thought he was just a git and Severus was nothing but a traitor—was still efficiently managing things with his fellow ex-spy. "Figures. He likes the weird spells, doesn't he? No wonder he was looming."

Percy reached for Harry's hand, but stopped himself before he could touch her.

"I'm just a girl, Percy. I won't break—guess it's strange, though, seeing me like—hey, I haven't seen myself. Am I allowed to get up?"

"I could conjure you a mirror, but you might want to save yourself the shock."

"You're still a git, you know that?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. "Look, I don't really want to admire my tits—I want a slash."

Flushing, Percy replied, "Right. I'll get Florence. You may need help."

"Why can't you—oh. All right."

Percy began to leave the room.

"No, wait—couldn't you just help me to the door?"

"Sorry, no. I'm not going to be a party to any negligence suit you might bring should you fall."

"You know I'd never—oh. You're teasing again. Git. Who's Florence?"

"She's a mediwitch."

"Maybe you should get Severus. I'm not sure I'm ready to uh, to use the loo in front of a witch, even if I'm going to be one for a while."

Some indefinable emotion flickered over Percy's face—Harry thought it might have been confusion—before he mastered it and asked, "But you can 'use the loo' in front of Severus?"

"Don't mock my effort to sound ladylike," Harry retorted. "Besides, taking a piss in front of Severus after everything else I've done with him won't be a problem—unless he's still naffed off, that is."

"We've talked about this before. Severus simply isn't . . . demonstrative, but he has been concerned about you. I can assure you of that," Percy told Harry, as he hurriedly left the room.

 _I'll just bet you can_ , Harry thought, feeling jealous; praise for Percy fell easily from Severus' lips when they were not otherwise occupied. _Severus is_ " _demonstrative_ " _enough after he gets a few pints in him, even if it is always a one-off with him_. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, of course Harry's coming home to the Burrow. Where else would Harry go?"

Severus tried not to smirk at Molly's stubborn avoidance of any pronoun when speaking of Harry and threw himself back into their 'debate'. "Potter's home is Twelve, Grimmauld, and Spriggs and I both think it would be more restful for her to—"

"'Restful'? Is that what you call Harry's condition? Severus, Harry has no idea how to be a witch. Harry has no idea how to be pregnant. Harry will need my help—and Grimmauld's precisely that. Grim. Old. It's no fit place for Harry to be right now."

"Perhaps she'll renovate it, given that she'll be raising a child there."

"What are you talking about?" Molly demanded.

"The solicitors were here last week. You know what your son and his wife intended."

"What do they know about a baby? And who can say what Harry will want? You and Spriggs have barely let me speak to Harry. Don't you think that Fleur would be a more—"

"Mum!" Ginny exclaimed. "That's enough. Ron and Hermione were perfectly clear in their Wish Scrolls. Justine is Harry's child, now."

"I don't want to fight about it."

"Then don't."

"But Ginny, you know that Fleur will—"

"Mrs. Weasley," Snape interrupted, "will have to learn to live with yet more disappointment."

"You horrible man," Molly said.

"Old news," Severus retorted.

"Could you two just stop," Ginny demanded. "It's no wonder Harry doesn't want to see you, Mum. You have to leave her alone. She's barely managing to keep up a brave front as it is."

 _That wasn't helpful_ , Severus thought, glaring at Ginny. 

Molly looked stricken. "Harry doesn't want to see me?"

"Oh, bother. Of course she does, but—"

Molly dropped the basket she had been holding and fled down the corridor before Ginny could complete her thought.

"Sod it. There's a month's knitting on the floor," she said, kneeling to shove the wool, needles, and various articles of infant clothing back into the basket. "I don't know what she's so worried about. It's not as though Harry is going to take Justine away. Even if she were, Mum's got plenty of grandchildren living near to her. Oh. Shite. That was awful of me."

"I'm the wrong person to judge," Severus replied, offering Ginny a hand up.

"That's true—sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you. It's just that this is all so difficult."

"Thank you for trying to persuade your family to give Harry her privacy."

"You're welcome. They hate me for it, but I understand."

"They don't hate you." _They didn't even hate Percy when_ —

"Well, Charlie asked if I was planning to um, 'stand by my woman', you know. He hates me because I told him yes," Ginny replied, coloring.

"How is Miss Bulstrode?"

"Demanding, but that's nothing new, and it has its rewards: the warden's made her a block captain."

"Ah. I expect the inmates at Azkaban are wishing for the Dementors back."

Ginny grinned.

"See what you can do with Molly. I don't want to have to ban her."

"Good luck ever trying that, but I will," Ginny said. "Going after her, now—and you might want to see to Harry. She's taking things hard today."

 _Of course she is. We're weaning her off the calming draught_ , Severus thought, finding himself back in Harry's room before he realized that his legs had carried him there.

Percy Weasley was standing with Harry, an arm around her shoulders, looking out of the window.

 _Bastard_. 

"You always have a plan," Harry said, in that new, softer voice of hers. "How is that possible?"

"You need to ask?" Percy inquired pompously.

Harry laughed.

 _Unmitigated bastard_.

"It would make Molly happy if I were to live with you, but . . . ."

 _Unspeakably unmitigated bastard_!

"You don't have to decide today. They aren't releasing you until July second, so you've a few days, yet. And, if you'd prefer, I could come to stay with you at Grimmauld."

 _Plonker_! "Forgive my interruption," Severus interjected quickly, before Harry could answer Percy, "but it's time to draw more blood."

"So they send a vampire," Harry retorted, turning to glare at Severus.

"I'm certain I'm needed elsewhere," Percy informed them. "I'll talk to you, later," he said to Severus. "Goodbye, Harry."

 _You won't be able to speak when I cut out your tongue_ , Severus silently threatened Percy, while gazing as impassively as he could at Harry. "Well? Roll up your sleeve," he told her, drawing his wand.

"There are mediwizards to do that, you know," she replied, rolling up her sleeve and thrusting her right arm forward.

Severus cast the blooding spell and drew a quantity of Harry's blood out of her arm and into the beaker he had just conjured. As soon as the blood mixed with the other fluids in the container, the entire mixture turned a muddy purplish-brown.

"I'll be reducing your dosage again in the morning."

"Fine," Harry replied, lower lip trembling.

"You might speak to a mind-healer."

" _No_."

"Why do you find Weasley an appropriate substitute for professional assistance?" Severus asked, Vanishing the beaker and sheathing his wand.

"Why won't anyone talk to me about what happens after? I mean, how long am I going to stay this way—until Justine's weaned? Damn. I don't even know how to breast feed—how do people expect me to take care of a baby without any sort of preparation?"

Severus watched Harry pace the room while his mind emptied itself.

Suddenly, Harry turned on him. "You're shielding your thoughts from me."

"Gilderoy Lockhart could shield his thoughts from you."

"Tosser!"

"Yes, I doubt he has much else to do. Calm down. It's not good for the baby for you to—"

"Her name's Justine, Severus. Ron named her as he was dying. The least you could do is to call her by it."

"'The least' I could do? Damn it, Potter! It seems like the least you could do is to remember that not getting Ronald Weasley is not enough of a reason to begin working your way through his brothers!" Severus yelled, before he could stop himself. _Fuck_.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry sounded so much like Molly had in the corridor earlier that Severus almost laughed.

"I never . . . not with Ron—and I wouldn't with Percy. How could—"

"Yes, how could you? Ron married his great love, and Percy, or so I thought, was quite resolutely mourning his."

Harry's eyes widened in amazement. "You pig-ignorant fuck! What's wrong with you?"

Severus strode forward to purposefully loom over Harry and demanded, "I could ask the same of you, you foolish bint. Do you want Children's Welfare to find you unfit to adopt Justine? Wish Scrolls or no, if it looks like you're spreading your legs for all the Weasley boys, they'll—"

Severus was jerked back and thrown away from Harry before he could conclude his insult; drawing his wand and righting his feet before he could fall, he spun about to discover Percy glaring at him.

"Leave. Now. Before I draw my wand."

"This doesn't concern you!" Severus snarled, feeling mortified and furious and remorseful.

"You've insulted and threatened a member of my family. I won't stand for it. Now, get out."

"Percy," Harry said.

"Don't upset yourself. You and Severus will want to continue your conversation later when you're both calm."

"I think I should decide that, don't you?" Harry demanded, swaying a bit.

"No. In fact, I think that you should sit down before you fall down—and Severus? If you don't leave now, I'll have to ban you."

"That would suit her," Severus spat, Disapparating the moment he crossed the room's threshold.

~*~

Harry did a little banning herself after Percy's altercation with Severus, her visit with the Children's Welfare representative assigned to Justine's case, and Fleur: she asked Florence to revoke her Allowed Visitors list. As there was no further need of healing wards or hourly checks by healers, her room, on the night before she was due to be released from St. Mungo's, was blessedly quiet. In the absence of any calming draught coursing through her veins, her grief was awful, but Harry's insistence to herself that sadness was bad for the baby kept her from becoming overwhelmed by it so that she could plan for her future.

 _Our future_.

Harry was not certain how she would fare once Justine was born, but she did know where she would be going once she was released—and that she would be going there alone. She had made up her mind on that score after Percy's display of "chivalry" and seeing Vivian Marchbanks.

The Children's Welfare representative had found Harry's choice an odd one—"Given that the Weasleys are prepared to support you in this confusing time," she had said—but Harry had known that it would be too hard on herself, on everyone, were she to go to the Burrow. 

_Fleur would be there all the time. Mrs. Weasley would never stop fussing over me. I . . . I'd think of them too much_.

Of course, just because Harry was not going to be living at the Burrow did not mean that she had not constantly, at the back of her mind, been thinking of Ron and Hermione, but she kept these thoughts to herself because she did not want to be told by Spriggs that she ought to see a mind-healer; Harry had seen enough mind-healers after the war to never want to see any of them again.

When no one would bring her any back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ , Harry had broken the anti-summoning charms she had discovered placed on her room and got them herself, Vanishing them after a night spent reading Skeeter's appalling suppositions.

 _God, I hate that woman_! _She never gets it right_. _Of course Shacklebolt's got me down as a witch. He's a stickler for having his facts straight—but this isn't permanent. . . . Stupid cow_.

Ron and Hermione's solicitors were now hers, and Harry had engaged them to, among other things, see to it that Dobby was sent to her. He had immediately agreed to quit Hogwarts, become her house elf, and make Grimmauld Place a suitable one for Justine. He had also carried her letter of resignation to Shacklebolt, who had, Dobby had told her upon his return from that errand, been expecting it.

Dobby had also brought Harry several books on pregnancy and child-rearing, which she had been reading since she had banned any further visits from concerned well-wishers.

"I'm so scared," Harry whispered, putting one of the books down and getting out of her bed to wander over to the window.

There were no stars in the sky, but she could see the candlelight of her "supporters" flickering in the street below; they had been holding a vigil for her since news of her transformation had first been reported, or so claimed the article Harry had read about it.

 _Everyone wants to know about me. Everyone wants to protect me, to make decisions for me. Everyone wants to be . . . involved_.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't bear another moment of being cooped up in hospital, surrounded by the suffocating sense of other people's concern.

 _I need to get out of here, but how_? _I know—I'll cast a glamour over myself, catch the Knight Bus to my neighborhood, and walk the rest of the way. Damn I'm glad Grimmauld's still Unplottable_.

Conjuring some parchment and a quill, Harry scrawled a note explaining her actions, drew some blood using the charm Severus had employed, and smeared it on the underside of her pillow to serve as the anchor of an illusion. Casting her spell, she was pleased when "she" blinked into existence on the bed.

 _There. Now no one will know I've gone until morning_ , she thought, hastily charming herself to look like a mediwizard—it never occurred to Harry to charm herself to look like a mediwitch—and exiting the room.

The healers still conducted nightly rounds.

Some of the other passengers on the bus were talking about her when she got on, and Harry marveled at how strange it was to be the focus of so much attention and still feel so lonely. She missed Severus.

 _I'm an idiot. Even if Severus did want me for more than shagging, I know he wouldn't want to raise a child with me. He hates children. . . . I still miss him, though—but just for the shagging_. 

The idea of accepting Fleur's "offer" to take Justine, which the witch had couched in terms of the difficulties faced by single mothers, flitted through her mind, but Harry dismissed it, damning herself for allowing her fears to temporarily get the better of her. 

_I saved the sodding world! I can learn to change a nappy. I can buy formula. I can raise Justine alone if I have to_!

Thinking it almost made her believe it.

Harry was just opening the door to Grimmauld Place when the hairs on the back of her neck rose. 

_Someone's there_! she thought, drawing her wand and turning around to see Severus standing in the street.

She felt her throat clench.

 _He's only doing his_ " _duty_ ," she thought angrily, sheathing her wand and kicking open the door, which she did not bother to close. 

Dobby appeared in the entrance hall, looking excited. "Dobby did not think Harry Potter would be here until tomorrow!"

"Yeah, well she's here now," Harry snapped, as she heard the door close behind her.

Dobby's ears quivered. "Is Harry Potter well?"

"She's fine. Leave us alone," Severus ordered.

Dobby made no move to obey him, exclaiming, "Dobby is not Severus Snape's house elf!"

"It's all right, Dobby," Harry said soothingly, feeling guilty for having snapped at him. "I'll call you if I need anything. I promise. You can go."

"Dobby will go, but Dobby will not leave," the house elf replied, shooting Severus a warning look and vanishing.

"You're not the only one who knows how to create an illusion," Severus said, following Harry as she went upstairs.

"And illusions are easy enough for you to detect," Harry said, throwing herself down on her bed.

Severus sat down on its edge. "They are when I've got my own monitoring charms in place. Why did you leave?"

"Why did you follow me?"

When Severus did not immediately reply, Harry turned over to look at him. His expression was guarded, but curious—and curiously not reproving. Without thinking why, she gestured for Severus to join her, which he did by stretching out beside her.

 _Nice_ , Harry thought, feeling the warmth emanating from Severus' body. _I wish_ — 

"This is . . . pleasant," Severus murmured.

Harry smiled ruefully. "Too bad we've never done this before."

"The pregnancy has affected your memory, Potter."

"No, I mean, we've never just been—"

"Sober together?"

"In bed together when we weren't shagging," Harry replied, frowning. "You always leave—and if you want me to remember your name, you might try using mine."

"You never ask me to stay, Harry," Severus replied, reaching out to brush back her fringe.

"That's nice, too," Harry whispered, moving her face closer to Severus' and refusing to consider what it was that she was doing.

In the past, Harry's habit of not considering what _he_ was doing with Severus, or even that it was Severus with whom he was doing it, had always made things easier between them; Harry saw no reason to change that as Severus leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her mouth.

 _Oh_ , Harry thought, as her body responded to Severus' kiss in a manner that was largely unfamiliar to her.

She had found opportunities to look at her new body, of course, to grow used to it in some respects, but the lack of privacy in St. Mungo's had kept her from exploring it properly. 

_But I'm—we're—alone now_ , Harry told herself, threading her fingers through Severus' hair and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. 

When their tongues began sliding together, she moaned into Severus' mouth and shifted so that she was lying on her back, and Severus followed her lead, covering her body with his own. Thrusting her hips into his, it surprised Harry not to feel the half-expected friction of her prick rubbing Severus' own, but what she did feel was more than welcome—and Severus did not seem to mind the change.

 _Thank God_ , Harry thought, her head swimming with arousal, as Severus moved his hands over her body. Mentally reviewing what her books had told her about shagging during pregnancy and not remembering any warnings against it—just notes on the use of pillows as positioning aids, which was advice that she did not yet need to employ—she broke their kiss to whisper an urgent, "Stay."

"Never really left," Severus told her, before kissing Harry with a fierceness that made any further conversation impossible.

  
**Implied Scene from Transformare** , by [reallycorking](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)  
(Commissioned in 2008, this artwork is solely for my own use.)

Several hours later, after Harry felt that she had made a fair go of experiencing what it was to be a girl, she murmured, "Fleur is going to try and take Justine away from me, Severus, and I can't let her do that."

"I know, Harry. I . . . understand," he said, running a hand lightly up and down her back. "Don't worry about that now. You should try to get some rest."

"I should have tried this witch thing a long time ago," she replied playfully, smiling into Severus' shoulder.

He gave a half-grunt, half-laugh in reply, and then, not long after, began to snore.

Harry giggled. "I didn't know you snored," she said, nuzzling more firmly against Severus and allowing herself to sleep.

When she woke up, Severus was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Severus hoped that Harry would understand his reasons for leaving her; he had not spent much time on his note, which he had ordered Dobby to give her, because he was in a fever of excitement to put his plan into effect. 

_If Fleur Weasley wants a baby, then I'll give her one_ , Severus thought, rapping his knuckles against the Burrow's front door.

It was the only way, Severus had decided, to keep the witch from trying to take Harry's child.

 _The problem with conception must lie in her Veela ancestry. Full-blooded Veelas often have difficulty carrying children to term, so perhaps_. . . .

Molly seemed startled by his presence when she opened the door. "Severus! What brings you? Is Harry all right?"

"Harry's fine. Is Mrs. Weasley at home?"

"She's out with Charlize," Molly said, her face wrinkling with a guilt-induced frown. "Come in," she continued, leading Severus into the kitchen. "Tea?"

"By 'out', do you mean she's gone to see her solicitors?" Severus asked, taking a seat at the table.

"I can't dissuade her from it. Oh, but how is Harry? I can't stand this ridiculous separation—Harry must be so frightened!"

"You've attempted to dissuade her?"

"We all have—even her solicitors. It took her countless visits before she even found a firm which would accept her case. It's not . . . promising, but she's insisting—"

"Molly," Severus asked quietly, as the witch fumbled with the tea things, "I'd like to help Mrs. Weasley, but I—"

Enraged, Molly turned on Severus, accidentally knocking the teapot to the floor. Its shattering stilled her tongue.

Severus bent down to pull Molly away from the shards, but she smacked away his hands.

"How could you?" she hissed. "Harry trusts you!"

" _Reparo_!" 

"Oh, fine. Fix a teapot while talking about betraying your . . . your . . . Harry!" Molly exclaimed, before dissolving into tears and sinking down to the floor to lean against a cabinet. "Harry trusts you and not . . . and not me."

"Upsetting witches is getting to be a habit with you," Percy said then, walking in through the back door and going at once to Molly. "Mum. Mum, please," he said, "come sit down."

"I am sitting down. What else can I do? They're dead and Harry's alone and Severus doesn't think Harry should—"

"Molly!" Severus snapped. "I'm not trying to take Justine away from Harry. I'm trying to help her keep the baby."

"Wh—what?"

Severus knelt to one side of the witch, mirroring Percy's position on the other. "I want to help Fleur conceive so that she won't—"

"Well," Molly said, her voice suddenly crisp as she began wiping her eyes and picking herself up off the floor, "that's different then, isn't it? Excuse me," she said, hurriedly leaving the room.

Severus and Percy shared a look of understanding.

"She's been bearing up well, but . . . ."

"I know," Severus said, hoping to put the unpleasant scene behind him. "Percy, what do you know about your sister-in-law's inability to conceive?"

"Nothing. That is, she can conceive. She just can't manage her pregnancies. Her last one ended quite badly, which is why she's here. Mum didn't want Fleur to be alone while Bill was traveling, or so I hear from Ginny."

Severus felt something akin to pity for Percy, who had never quite managed to heal the breach between himself and his family. "You have told them everything, surely."

"Not everything—I haven't even told you everything—but enough," Percy replied, closing his eyes briefly as if he were forcing down an old pain. "Of course, that hasn't made things right. I doubt anything could. Most of them were Order members, after all."

"Dumbledore wouldn't allow you to speak of your mission."

"If you want to help Fleur, you might apply to Bill. He's in Snape, oddly enough, trying to break the curse on the wine cellar of the castle there—everything turns to vinegar, it seems."

Severus sighed angrily, but he did not press Percy further on the matter of his family before leaving for Snape. When he found Bill, however, he had to cast a sobering charm on the successful curse-breaker. 

Bill did not mind the interference after hearing what Severus had to tell him.

"You'd do that for us?"

"I wouldn't have offered if not."

"Of course. Professor, this is . . . thank you, I—"

"Don't thank me yet, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry's lucky to have you. I'm glad of that, even if it does make me feel sorry for Percy."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? Aren't the two of you . . . fighting over her?"

"You might try talking to your brother instead of listening to gossip about him."

Bill gave a resentful start. "Percy's not one for talking, is he."

"Percy is one of the most worthy wizards it has ever been my privilege to know," Severus said firmly, glaring at Bill. "How unfortunate that his own family remains stubbornly unaware of that fact."

"Hey! I've tried—"

"Try harder, Mr. Weasley. Now then, how are you going to persuade Mrs. Weasley to call off her solicitors and allow me to assist her?"

After making plans with Bill to see Fleur, Severus returned to the Spellcraftres' Guild to consider another problem, that of how to tell Harry that she was never going to be a wizard again.

 _I doubt she'll accept it, and the stress of the discovery could very well cause her to lose Justine_ , he thought, absent-mindedly reordering supplies which had no need of it.

He had not brewed as many potions in recent years as in past ones; his duties at the guild were focused on creating spells. Spellen had been fascinated by Sectumsempra, for example, and Severus' first project had been to craft a specific counter-spell to it. Once Severus had been successful in that endeavor, Spellen had set him to work on myriad healing charms and counter-hexes, spells that were necessary answers to the sheer number of Dark-spell-related injuries with which St. Mungo's, from whom the guild received much of its funding, had been plagued. 

War was a great teacher, it seemed, and Voldemort's supporters had been very creative.

Unbidden, a memory rose in Severus' mind, the memory of Harry's face after he had destroyed the Dark Lord.

It had not been elation on Harry's face, but confusion and anger and, when he had turned to regard Severus, hatred.

 _He saved it up and waited until it was safe to unleash it upon me_ , Severus thought, remembering.

"Why? Why did you kill them? Why did you betray my parents to Voldemort?"

"Because I was a Death Eater, Potter. It was my job to betray people."

Severus had never lied to the boy before; he had seen no reason to lie to the boy then.

Harry had thrown down his wand and attempted to throttle Severus, and he had very nearly succeeded, despite his heroic exhaustion, when Lucius Malfoy had regained consciousness.

 _Fuck_ , Severus had thought then, watching in horror as Lucius had risen up behind Harry to point his wand at the boy's head, _I thought I killed you_! "Mine," he had choked out, and Lucius had lowered his wand.

That had been enough time for Severus to strain forward and kiss Harry, which had shocked him into stillness and provided Severus with an opportunity to aim his own wand at Lucius.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

The memory of his own thundering, hate-filled voice jerked Severus out of his reverie, and he found that his hand was resting on a book concerning blood magic. 

_Blood magic_ , he thought, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it—but it did not work.

Severus could still see Harry's face.

 _He was overwhelmed. He didn't know how he could feel gratitude for someone he despised. He didn't understand how he could hate and want me at the same time_.

It was on that day that he and Harry had first fallen into bed together.

 _No, not immediately. We fell to the ground and tore at each other—it was more fighting than fucking_.

But they had kept fucking, despite all reason, and they had not been long apart since that awful, blessed day. Of course, they had never again, at least, not soberly, discussed Severus' past, or his past treatment of Harry. They ignored those things, as they repressed whatever it was they felt for each other.

 _Not all couples talk_ , Severus thought.

Considering what his parents' marriage had been like, he decided that, sometimes, talking was overrated—and no manner of apology, in certain circumstances, would ever put the damage two people might have caused each other to rights.

 _Whatever this_ ' _something_ ' _is that lies between us, it's nothing to what Harry felt for Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and if she were to lose their child, she would never recover from it_.

From Severus' perspective, the only way to prevent Harry from falling into an unalterable despair was to see to it that she accepted herself as the witch she was forced to remain.

 _So that she'll be strong enough to become a mother_.

For this, for him to be able to protect Harry as he had always done, Severus knew that he needed a spell, a spell of acceptance, but he had not become a spellcraftre for nothing.

 _I will make Harry a witch_ , he promised himself, _whether she wants to be one, or not_.

~*~

"Harry Potter? Dobby is leaving breakfast outside the door," Harry heard Dobby say—again.

She had been ignoring the house elf for most of the morning as she attempted to write a suitably scathing letter to Severus, finally warding Dobby out of her bedchamber when she grew tired of his irritating, importuning manner.

 _I'll eat when I'm ready_ , she thought, crumpling up yet another sheet of parchment.

"Dobby wishes that Harry Potter would open the door and—"

"I'LL EAT WHEN I'M READY!" 

The inkpot exploded, spattering its contents all over Harry, her desk, and the carpet and startling Harry, who had not lost control of her magic in such a stupid way for some time.

"Damn it! Damn poxy inkpot! Damn Severus sodding Snape!"

For once, there was no response from Dobby.

 _The bed was cold. He left me and the bed got cold_! Harry inwardly raged, storming into the loo to sponge away the ink from her skin because she did not trust herself to employ a cleaning charm. _I should have known he'd leave. I knew he'd never_ — "Why didn't he tell me? Why'd he have to sneak away? Am I so horrible?" she asked, staring at herself in the mirror above the sink.

Harry did not think she looked that bad. Her breasts were not as large as Hermione's had been, but they were firm, with large, plum-colored nipples, and enough to play with.

 _And he seemed to like them_ , Harry thought, running her hands disconsolately over her breasts and down her belly to her messy, ink-sodden lower curls. _He seemed to like all of me_. "Why'd he leave?" she whispered, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I wish someone would tell me why—"

"Harry Potter should not be naked," Dobby admonished her, winking into existence above the sink and draping a warm robe over Harry's shoulders.

"I warded you out!"

"Harry Potter is saying 'I wish someone would tell me why', and Dobby is someone."

Sliding her arms into the robe, a sniffling Harry replied, "It was rhetorical. I didn't mean—"

"Dobby is sorry," the house elf said, offering Harry a small square of parchment. "Dobby is—"

"Is this from Severus?" Harry asked, hating herself for feeling so hopeful. "Did he order you to give this to me?"

Dobby nodded, his ears quivering in distress. "But Dobby is not—"

"Severus Snape's house elf," Harry said, unfolding the note and reading it quickly, while Dobby looked worriedly on.

Harry's body went rigid.

"Is Harry Potter well?"

Feeling as though she would never be warm again, Harry whispered, "I'm alone."

"But Dobby is here, Harry Pot—"

"Belt up, Dobby," Harry ordered, walking out of the loo and to her wardrobe and dressing herself with stiff, efficient movements. 

Dobby levitated himself after her.

"Listen, I'm going to re-key the wards so that Severus can't get in any—no! I'm going to re-work the Unplotting. No one needs to know where to find me except you, understand?"

"No, Dobby does not. Why should—"

"Are you my house elf or aren't you?" Harry hissed, while trying to focus her magic.

"Dobby serves Harry Potter, but . . . but Dobby is his own house elf—and Dobby is thinking it is dangerous for no one to know where Harry Potter is because Harry Potter is bearing!"

Harry glared at Dobby for a moment, but then decided that he was right. "Fine. I'll . . . I'll leave the wards open for Mrs. Weasley."

"But then Harry Potter must not be re-working the Unplotting, yes?"

 _Damn it_! _That's true_. "Just remember what I said about Mrs. Wea—about Mrs. Molly Weasley—only she can come in, all right? Now leave me alone." 

Dobby left before Harry could begin to re-key the wards. When she had finished, she turned her attention to Severus' note again and read:

> _Harry_ ,
> 
> _I must help Fleur Weasley to become a mother. It's the only way that you and I will ever be free to make a family together. Forgive my presumption, but I believe you want that as much as I do._
> 
> _Severus_

Harry's tears fell on the parchment and blurred the writing as she thought, _If you believe that then you're a bigger bastard than I ever thought you were. Why does my being a witch make you think you have the right to make my decisions for me_?

Even Percy had exercised that "right."

After he had thrown Severus out of her room at St. Mungo's, Harry had felt angry, and that anger had made her decide that living with Percy would be impossible. She had trusted Percy with her fears, and he had assumed that her trust somehow implied that she was too weak to manage her own affairs.

 _Or make my own decisions or . . . or protect myself_!

It was maddening.

 _They'd never treat me this way if I were a wizard—and I'm going to be a wizard again. They know that, so maybe it's just me they think is weak_. "How is that possible? I destroyed Voldemort!"

But having a baby was not the same thing as saving the world.

"It's scarier, isn't it? But Ron would never have treated Hermione like this," Harry whispered, crushing Severus' ruined note in her fist. "Ron respected Hermione. He . . . he loved her." _And that's the problem, isn't it? Severus doesn't love me. He  
just_ . . . . "He just thinks I'm a responsibility—a duty—he doesn't really want me."

Their years of shagging notwithstanding, Harry knew she was right. She had foolishly wanted what laid between Severus and herself to be love, but all it had ever been was a series of drunken one-offs. She had tried dating other people, but they had always treated her as the Boy Who Lived; they had not been interested in the Boy Who Was—and Harry had known that Severus' other relationships had been equally as unsuccessful.

 _So Severus and I fucked because no one else would have us, and now he thinks that gives him the right to take Justine from me. . . . Let him try_.

"I'll kill him if he tries."

Harry's anger rose up within her then. The hairs on her arms and neck rose. She felt the terrible power that was hers to command waiting for the direction of her will, and the "book" into which she had written Voldemort's secrets opened its pages within her mind.

 _I could kill him now_ , she thought in horrified fascination, as she called into her consciousness myriad Dark spells which would make short work of the threat she perceived Severus to be to her. _Hell, I could make Severus a witch_! she thought, revisiting the spell she had employed to alter her sex. "It would serve him right! How would he feel if . . . if . . . ."

Harry's eyes widened as if she were reading a real book in a darkened room and could not clearly discern the text, and, suddenly, the memory of Severus' words as he had tried to stop her from becoming Ron and Hermione's surrogate burst into her mind: " _You idiot_! _The spell is_ 'ex _cambiō sexus_ '— _have you any idea what it is that you've done_?"

"No. No, that can't be right! I didn't, I did not cast a permanent spell!" Harry yelled, as her knees buckled and she fell to the floor.

Sobbing in rage and confusion and fear, Harry realized the depth of her mistake—and Severus' betrayal.

"He knew! Severus . . . knew, and . . . and he never . . . told me. Oh, God! What have I—I can't stay this—oh, God, I'm a . . . I'm a witch!"


	6. Chapter 6

Percy and Bill pulled Severus out of the cold, brackish water of the barrel; he was still singing.

"We'd best try again," Bill said to Percy, as they pushed Severus' head back into the barrel, only to yank him out of it once more.

"Death will come for you, not me! Death will never de—"

Splash!

This time, the two wizards held Severus down a bit longer.

"You know," said Bill, "the song's rather catchy."

"Up," Percy insisted, shooting Bill a disgusted look.

"—feat me!"

"Merlin's balls! What have you been drinking, Professor?" Bill demanded, shoving Percy aside so that he could seize the inebriated Severus by the shoulders and shake him.

"Past cold Death's dire embrace—"

Percy stepped forward, grabbed Severus by the hair, and pushed him back into the barrel.

Splash!

"Percy, why can't we try a sobering charm?" 

"—past the ages to come—"

Splash!

"Because Severus drinks too much, and—"

"—I will wander the—"

"—he's immune to it," Percy replied, releasing Severus and drawing his wand. "Pull him up."

"—Halls of Ti—"

" _Somnius_!"

SPLASH!

"While to rack you run!" Bill exclaimed, as Severus fell forward, knocking over the barrel and landing in a stinking, sodden heap in the alley behind the Hog's Head. "Why the hell didn't you cast that sooner?"

Percy sheathed his wand. "Just thought of it, actually."

"Why'd you never mention that the Death Eaters had . . . fight songs?"

"You never asked," Percy muttered, stiffly bending down to turn Severus on his side. "I don't think that was tobacco he was smoking."

Bill laughed. "No, it wasn't. What should we do with the great git?"

"A little respect, please."

"I have a lot of respect for Professor Snape, Percy—he's still helping us even though Fleur's being difficult—but he's ruining himself."

"We can't take him back to the Spellcraftres' Guild like this."

"And we can't leave him here to sleep it off—it's too damned cold."

Percy frowned. "I don't trust him to be alone. Let's get him to my place."

"That's hardly fair. Aberforth mentioned something about your 'always' coming to get the professor. How long have you—"

"Off and on since Harry warded him out of Grimmauld. At least twice a week since Highmaster Spurlock banned him from his lab. Right much every damn morning for a fortnight," Percy replied, with increasing exasperation. "I should probably just start him a tab here, but—"

"It's the middle of October."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing but the fact that my sack's freezing to my thigh. Let's go, already."

Percy smirked and stood up. "How did a foul-mouthed lout like you ever win Fleur's hand?"

Bill made a lascivious gesture with his tongue.

"Spare me. Gods, he's heavy. A little help here?"

"A little spell, perhaps? Several cleaning charms, please?"

"Oh. How stupid of me, I—"

Bill clapped a hand on Percy's shoulder. "You're worried about the man. I understand. He's lucky, to have a friend like you."

"Thanks, Bill."

"Yerwelc'me," Severus murmured, half-waking as his body began to reject what looked to Bill and Percy like everything he had drunk that night.

"Snape, if you start singing again, I'll punch you," Bill warned, drawing his wand, pointing it at Severus, and murmuring a spell.

"That isn't what I meant by respect," Percy said, though he smiled when he did. "What are you doing?"

"Well, no helpful charms, after all—he's been taking some rather interesting magiceuticals."

It took them a long time to clean Severus up and put him to bed in Percy's spare room, but after these tasks were accomplished, Bill asked, "So, what does a man have to do to get a drink around here?"

"Don't you want to get home? I thought Fleur wasn't feeling well."

"Yeah, Mum says the first six weeks or so are usually the hardest, but the wife's the one who sent me off tonight. Anyway, I'd rather spend some time with you, little brother."

Pleased, Percy summoned a bottle of Old Ogden's and two glasses, pouring them both generous measures of the Firewhisky.

"Damn, that goes down like dragon fire!" Bill exclaimed, pouring himself another measure.

"Not if you cut it."

"You didn't."

"I like the burn."

Bill smiled. "Good to know. . . . Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"About?"

"All that rot Snape was spewing earlier about your having stolen Harry away from him."

"Rubbish. It took me weeks to get her to trust me again. She was that sure I had something to do with his damned Spell of Acceptance."

Bill frowned and leaned forward in his chair. "I don't get that. Harry couldn't bear it, being a witch, so why did she mind Severus helping her so much?"

"You've got it wrong. Harry couldn't bear the thought of never being a wizard again. There's a difference. Severus had no right to cast that spell without her permission. He took away her choice. That's why she won't see him."

"Was that why she spurned you? Because you tossed Snape out on his arse when they fought at St. Mungo's?"

Percy sighed. "No, Harry didn't spurn me. We were never—"

"You're honestly telling me that you're not in love with her?"

"Yes," Percy replied, setting his glass down on the side table with a decisive "snick!"

"All right. It's just that you offered to live with her, and I thought . . . ."

"I can't help what you thought, but Harry isn't—never mind. No need to go down that road."

"What if I want to, little brother?" Bill asked softly.

Percy considered his brother's offer. _Perhaps talking about it wouldn't hurt_. . . . "She's not Penelope."

Bill's expression softened into sadness. "Penelope. She was the one, eh?"

"She was. She . . . was perfect," Percy answered, fighting back tears.

"Yeah, she was that," Bill said, rising. "Look, I shouldn't have pressed you, and I expect you'll want to sleep while you can. Fire-call for help if you need it?"

Percy stood up and offered his brother his hand. "Thanks. For everything. It's been . . . I've—"

"Me too, little brother," Bill said, pulling Percy into a hug.

Percy allowed himself to relax and hugged back, but then, stepping out of the embrace said, "You know, you should stop calling me that. I've an inch on you, after all."

Bill grinned. "Not where it counts, I reckon."

"Are you implying that my sister-in-law married you for your—I mean to say, is shallow?"

"You're a gentleman, Percy Weasley. And no, I'm not implying that Fleur married me for my prick," Bill replied, laughing. "Where's your Floo powder?"

Getting Bill sorted out to leave took a bit of time because Percy, who was living in Muggle London, did not often make use of his Floo, and he was reluctant to see his big brother leave.

 _It's been lovely talking to him again_ , Percy thought, after Bill had left. _Even Dad and the twins have been_ —

A loud, broken groan emanated from the spare bedroom.

 _Sleeping bastard awakes_ , Percy thought, going to look in on Severus. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Too much . . . light," Severus complained.

"I've got two candles lit in the lounge. There's barely enough light to see by."

"Too much."

"I agree," Percy replied, entering the room and shutting the door behind himself before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Your indulgence in appalling behavior has become excessive."

"Stop. Stop lecturing . . . ."

"I should have taken you back to the Spellcraftres' Guild. If Spellen Spurlock were to see how badly off you are, he'd surely kick some sense into you."

"Spellen's fault," Severus spat. "Hoisted my fucking standard, didn't I?"

"You're not making an ounce of sense, you imbecile."

Severus rolled over onto his back and tried to stare balefully up at Percy. "Too dark," he complained.

"Good. I don't particularly want to look at you."

"Damn it, Percy. She won't have me."

"You betrayed her."

"Helped."

"No, what you did was damn near unforgivable. You're lucky you did it to Harry because, if anyone can forgive you, it's she."

"How . . . how is she?"

"Mum and Fred are teaching her to sew."

"Percy."

"She's radiant. Bearing up well. Not at all conflicted about being a witch. Hating you."

"Not good for the baby, hating."

"You should have thought of that before you took matters into your own hands."

"Grieving's not good, either. She's not taking calming draughts?"

"I wouldn't know, but I do know Harry's got it into her head that grief is bad for Justine."

"And hating me's not?" Severus replied sulkily.

"I have every reason to believe she'll fall apart after she gives birth. I spoke to Dad about it, and he called a family meeting."

"A family meeting?"

"Yes. It's the first one I've been invited to in years."

"Good."

"We've all arranged to be free to assist Harry in whatever way she might need after the birth."

Severus did not respond.

"That doesn't mean she doesn't need you."

"It does. She hates me. She'll never trust me again."

" _Lumos_!"

"FUCK! What the hell'd you do that for?"

Percy stood up and pointed his wand at Severus. "You look a right mess, man! You're behaving like a child. If you want Harry to trust you, you'll need to start earning it. Do you think drinking yourself into a stupor every night will accomplish anything?"

"No one needs me. Fleur's pregnant. Harry's a witch. I'm just—"

"An ungrateful ex-Death Eater who's forgot how quickly public opinion can change, for one thing."

Severus, who had been shielding his eyes, peered out from behind his arm at Percy. "What does that mean?"

"The head of the Board of Ethics has suggested to Spellen Spurlock that funding for the Spellcraftres' Guild might be cut if he doesn't 'deal' with you. You're that close to getting the sack."

"Narcissa Malfoy has reason to hate me. Spellen won't listen to—"

"It's not just Mrs. Malfoy, Severus. There have been complaints about your behavior. Articles written. Photographs—"

"What photographs?"

"—taken," Percy continued, his anger at Severus' recent behavior finally getting the better of him. "If you don't pull yourself together, you'll lose everything you've worked for—and your reputation will be beyond rehabilitation."

"It doesn't matter what I do—Potter's no doubt shared her sad tale of my 'treachery' with everyone."

" _Finite Incantatem_!" Percy cast then, before lunging at Severus and punching him.

Hung over as he was, however, Severus had sensed the attack coming, and he subdued Percy with relative ease. "You little shite. You might try fighting fairly."

"I'd never win," Percy spat.

"Why did you attack me?"

"Because Harry hasn't told anyone what you did to her! People have just assumed that she asked you to do it, which has gone a long way toward getting them to overlook—"

"Right," Severus said, releasing his hold on Percy and rising unsteadily from the bed. "I'm for a slash and a shower,   
and then . . . ."

"What?" Percy demanded, rubbing his jaw.

"I don't bloody know. But something."

~*~

"It's a good idea, Harry," Ginny said, handing her the letter back. "For one thing, it'll get you out of the house. You've been holed up here since your birthday party."

"I like it here. Dobby's done wonders with the place," Harry said stubbornly, staring at the letter and remembering how smug Fleur had been. _Severus gets her pregnant to make her leave me alone and she starts talking nonsense about every child deserving a sibling_ , " _especially Weasley children_." _Ungrateful bitch_. "Besides, I've had enough of Severus' interference. This is probably just some trick to get me in with a mind-healer. Why should I go?"

"To a mind-healer? I can think of a lot of reasons. Greengrass wasn't that bad, was she? I mean, she did help you."

 _Yeah, a fucking Slytherin helped me deal with another one's mess_ , Harry thought, resenting the fact that she had found it, if not easy, possible to talk to Daphne when she could not do the same with Severus. _The bastard didn't even try to talk to me about it_! "I'm not seeing Daphne again. I'm not possessed, I'm not crazy, and I don't panic every time I have to put on a bra anymore. There's no point in seeing her."

Ginny compressed her lips and hummed, rolling her eyes. "But there is a point in talking things out with Severus, isn't there, in at least getting his apology?"

"Who says I want his apology?" Harry asked crossly, tossing aside the letter and then adjusting her bra strap. "God! I think I'm . . . leaking."

"Well, Healer Spriggs has set your due date for the first. That's only three weeks away. Your body's just preparing for—"

"I know what it's doing," Harry said, pushing herself up from the sofa with some difficulty and walking toward the door. "I need to change. I'll be right back."

"Add another nursing pad!" Harry heard Ginny call to her a moment later.

 _Another one_? _I'm already wearing two in each cup_! Harry thought, throwing her blouse and soaked bra onto the floor of her room as she searched her wardrobe for other attire and considered the contents of the letter she had received that morning.

It had read:

> Dear Miss Harry James Potter,
> 
> This letter is to inform you that Severus Tobias Snape desires to perform the Ritual of Reckoning before you at noon on the fifteenth day of December, two thousand three, whereby he may submit his trespasses against your person to the Record of Acts and call judgment upon himself to be decided by you and the Arbiter Wizengamot, or by the Arbiter Wizengamot alone should you elect not to be present.
> 
> All Rituals of Reckoning are recorded in the Record of Acts and sealed until both the Reckoner and the Concerned Person or Persons have died, and all save the Concerned Person or Persons are bound not to speak of the matter.
> 
> Should you wish to be present for the ritual, return this letter to its envelope, re-seal it with wax mixed with a drop of your blood, and it will serve as your Portkey to the Arbitration Hall at the appointed time.
> 
> Yours in service,
> 
> Pontius Prattlesby,  
>  Clerk of the Arbiter Wizengamot

"What's Severus playing at with this reckoning thing, anyway?" Harry asked, rejoining Ginny.

"I suppose you'll have to go if you want to find out, won't you?"

"Thanks for answering my question. You were a help."

"Look, the ritual's an old tradition dating back to the time of the Founding. It used to be that when people committed a crime and weren't caught, they could submit themselves to the Ritual of Reckoning as a testament of their intention to change."

"That's stupid. It seems like just a way for someone to relieve himself of a guilty conscience."

"I suppose so, but it's also a pretty spiffy way for someone who might otherwise be driven to desperation to make a fresh start," Ginny replied, popping a biscuit into her mouth and chewing it slowly, as if preoccupied.

"What is it?"

"You seem awfully . . . calm."

"Spriggs keeps insisting I avoid stress. This letter doesn't help that, but I'm trying."

"Harry, are you—"

"I don't know yet."

"What?"

"I don't know if I'm going to the ritual."

"No, I didn't mean that. I was going to ask if you'd been taking any sort of calming draught."

Harry started. "Why would you ask that?"

Ginny sighed and stared at Harry without blinking.

"Fuck. Yes, all right?"

"No, it isn't. You know better! Do you realize what—"

"Spriggs said it wouldn't hurt Justine."

"But what about you?" Ginny demanded, her agitation clear as she threw down her serviette and stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "If you've been artificially calm all this time, how do you think you'll feel when you stop—or when the draught stops working for you?"

"Strong emotions aren't good for the baby," Harry answered, through gritted teeth.

"Neither is avoiding them, you idiot!"

"You know what, Ginny? I don't need a nursemaid or a mother or a . . . a—"

"A Severus? Anyone who loves you telling you when you're pissing yourself about? This is stupid, Harry!"

"No," Harry said, seizing the letter and shaking it in Ginny's face. "This is stupid. What does he think I'm going to do? Forgive him, just like that? Tell the sodding Arbiter Wizengamot that I don't mind having my head fucked with?"

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again and walked to the window. 

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you, but I'm tired of being managed."

"I wasn't doing that. I was trying to be your friend."

"Right. I remember your little speech about 'friendship' when you left me."

Ginny turned on Harry, glaring at her. "You're being an arse!"

"You're the one who—"

"Came over all lesbian and thought it would be the right thing to tell my boyfriend! What a bitch that makes me—but at least I said something about my feelings for someone else when we were both conscious and not shagging!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You're the one who was calling out someone else's name, you shite. My own brother's name, and I never taxed you with it. I'd say that makes me the better friend."

Harry was gobsmacked, and she felt herself blushing from her toes to her scalp. _Shite. I didn't know I'd done that to you_. "Ginny, Ginny, I'm sorry. I never meant—"

"Save your half-arsed apologies, you horrid cow. I don't want them. I want you to take care of yourself so that you'll be fit to raise my niece."

"'Horrid cow'?" Harry asked, trying not to smile. _That settles it. I really am a witch, aren't I_?

"This isn't funny."

"Sure it is. It's absurd. But you're right. I was out of line. I am sorry."

"You're sorry for the wrong thing. You should be sorry for—"

"Belt up about the calming draughts. I'm not going to stop taking them until after Justine is born. Nothing you say will persuade me, so just don't say anything—please."

Ginny ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Fine. But what about the ritual? Are you going or aren't you?"

"Why should I give a toss about some poxy old tradition?"

"It's more than that. Don't you get it? He's trying to apologize to you."

"I do get that. I just don't care."

"Harry," Ginny said, approaching her, "you know you're in love with him. You know that, so why won't you—"

"Does Millicent tell you how to live?"

"Well, no, not really."

"Does she respect you?"

"Of course."

"Would you love her if she made your decisions for you and treated you like . . . like you were some sort of fragile . . . thing?"

Ginny sat down. "I don't think you're being completely fair."

"Really?" Harry said, falling more than sitting down next to Ginny.

"Yeah, and think about it this way. If you don't go to the ceremony, the Arbiter Wizengamot's judgment will be final. What Snape did was very wrong, Harry, and—"

"I know!"

"—he might be forbidden the use of his magic for it. That could happen. Would you really want that? Do you hate him that much?"

 _I don't hate Severus_ , Harry thought quickly, before Ginny's words could sink in. "Wait. The Arbiter Wizengamot, he wouldn't really take Severus' magic, would he?"

"I think the Arbiter's a she, and yes, I do think she might order him not to use his magic. It's happened before."

"It's not like his spell was an Unforgiveable."

"Any spell that alters someone's will so completely might as well be, Harry. You've said as much yourself."

 _Great. Just super. What the hell is he thinking_?

"You can't say you're not happier."

"You mean because I don't try to piss standing up anymore?"

"Exactly."

"If he had asked, I might have said yes. If he had asked, I might have been grateful. But he didn't, Ginny. He just did it. He just 'protected' me, did his sodding duty!"

"Careful, that calming draught seems to be wearing off," Ginny said, half in annoyance as she slid over toward Harry and wrapped her arms around her.

"You still smell good," Harry said sheepishly, leaning into Ginny's embrace.

"Hmph. What's that, then? 'Good', I mean?"

 _Like a Weasley_ , Harry thought, pushing away a threatening memory of Ron. "Fine. I'll go."

"Only go if you really want to."

"Oh, I want to," Harry replied. _Because Severus needs saving from himself, and I want to tell him exactly what I think of him and his_ " _protection_."


	7. Chapter 7

At precisely eleven in the morning on the day that his Ritual of Reckoning was to occur, Severus was led into the antechamber of the Arbitration Hall by a nondescript-looking wizard, who bowed to the Arbiter Wizengamot before taking his leave.

"Severus Tobias Snape, I am Amphitrite Merrythought," the witch standing in the center of the room said, extending her hand.

Severus took it. "It is an honor to meet you, madam."

"Perhaps you'll not feel so, after," the witch replied, with no hint of a smile softening her austere features as she released his hand. "Tell me why you've chosen to submit yourself to the Ritual of Reckoning."

"I was under the impression that all details were to be provided during the ritual," Severus replied, clasping his hands behind his back so as not to fidget.

"You were mistaken, but I do not speak of particulars. I wish to know what you hope to gain by this act."

"Ah. Well," Severus replied, stalling. _I don't know. I want to see Harry again. I want her to be reasonable_! "I've done Miss Potter an—"

"Do not prevaricate."

"I had no intention of prevaricating."

"That is also a lie," Merrythought replied, closing her eyes.

Severus suddenly realized that the Arbiter was reading him, had already read him, and attempted to Occlude his thoughts.

"I would not be the Arbiter Wizengamot if you could so easily hide from me, boy," Merrythought told him, opening her eyes.

Severus was stunned. _She's not even using direct eye contact_!

"I do not require my eyes to see into your mind, and what I see there does not please me."

"Forgive me, but perhaps you shouldn't be so rude as to spy on someone's thoughts without permission," Severus replied crisply, hoping that he did not sound as disturbed as he felt.

"How interesting that you should say that to me," Merrythought remarked, turning away from Severus to scan the engraved symbols over the door to the Arbitration Hall. "I understand your fear, of course, but it is you who have come seeking judgment," she continued, turning to regard him again. "Did you think I would pass it upon you in ignorance of your actions?"

 _Fuck. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea_. "Of course not."

"The Old Ways are a mystery to many. The knowledge of my craft was passed to me in an unbroken chain from the first Arbiter Wizengamot, who was Merlin, himself, and all who have taken up the office have sworn to see justice done without prejudice or caprice. Few seek to be judged, but those who do will find it sober and just and utter."

 _No. I've definitely made the wrong decision in this_.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. If you truly seek to right the wrong you have done to Harry James Potter, then you are mistaken, however fearful. I urge you to look to your motivation, and enter the Arbitration Hall with an honest mind. If you do not, your judgment may indeed cause you to feel that you have erred in coming here."

With those words, Merrythought left Severus, who gazed up at the carving over the door as the Arbiter Wizengamot entered it. The carving, translated from the Latin, read: "Let no falsehoods be entertained herein."

"What good is a warning if one doesn't know the penalty?" Severus murmured, wrapping his arms around himself as though he were chilled. "'Look to your motivation', she said." _I just want Harry, that's all. I just want her to know that I_ . . . .

Something, Severus did not know what, would not allow him to complete his thought. That same 'something' also made him feel that Amphitrite Merrythought knew exactly what it was that he was hiding from himself.

Nervously, he began to pace the antechamber and wonder if Harry would attend the ritual—the ritual about which, he realized, he knew very little other than what he had read in an arcane volume of wizarding traditions.

 _How unlike yourself to be caught so unprepared_! 

Percy had been surprised when Severus had explained his intention to submit to the Ritual of Reckoning. 

"Are you sure that's wise? The only person I know of who did this ended up being banished from Britain."

"I haven't attempted to alter history by using a Time-Turner to commit murder, Percy," Severus had said.

"But Terrence the Time-Tinkerer was banished from Britain by being sent back in time over fifteen hundred years!"

"Your time working at the Ministry was spent indulging in historical research?"

"It's not a good idea. The Arbiters tend to favor poetic justice. Imagine what Merrythought will make of your action."

Severus was imagining it, in great detail, and the idea that he had trapped himself was foremost in his mind.

 _The Spell of Acceptance was innocuous, useful, but I cast it without asking Harry, and it permanently altered her sense of self. What the hell might Merrythought do to me in kind_?

It seemed likely to Severus, now that he was considering the matter rationally, that Harry would not appear.

"Which means that my fate is now in the hands of that bloodless oracle!"

"She's rather alarming, is the Arbiter Wizengamot, but it's mostly for show," a familiar voice said then.

"Spellen!"

"Boo," the Highmaster replied, grinning at Severus.

"Don't mistake the question, but what are you doing here?"

"Ever since you destroyed your lab and I banned you from it, I've had a tracking charm on you."

"What?" 

"Nothing wrong with your hearing, is there?"

"No, but no one's supposed to know—"

"Oh, I know you well enough to understand what it means that you're here, and also that, once you step inside that room," Spellen continued, nodding toward the Arbitration Hall, "and the spells activate, you won't be able to speak to me about what you're doing here, so I thought I'd lend you a bit of moral support before the ritual—and maybe save your bacon while I was at it."

"How? I can't back out of the ritual now."

Spellen chuckled. "Not once you walk in there, true, but you can decide, while you're still out here, to undertake the Ritual of Reckoning properly."

Severus pulled a watch out of his pocket and saw that he had only twenty minutes left before he had to enter the Arbitration Hall. "Forgive me, but I haven't much time. What do you mean?"

"The old girl probably mentioned something to you about knowing your motivation?"

"Yes," Severus replied, frowning. "How do you know about that? Were you listening?"

"Don't be so suspicious."

"You have been spying on me."

"No, I've been monitoring you so as to prevent your doing anything stupid, not that it helped much. Time, Severus. Let me speak."

"Fine. I'd still like to know how you know so much about this."

"My cousin, Spurton, studied to become Arbiter but found he didn't have the stomach for it. Now then, there's nothing that says your motivation can't change."

"What does that mean?" Severus asked, pocketing his watch.

"It means that, even though you came here merely to see Potter and manipulate her into forgiving you—"

"You know nothing about it!"

"Ha. No one asks for anyone else to cast on him—or her, in this case—the kind of spell you used on Potter, no matter what Skeeter might be reporting. Are you going to allow me to speak?"

"Go on," Severus replied, thinking, _You're wrong_! _Harry wanted me to Obliviate him after_ —

"You know, I see the thoughts spinning in your head."

"How? You're no Legilimens."

"I imagine that Potter was shaken badly after his final battle with Voldemort," Spellen said, by way of an answer.

"You don't think Obliviation is on a par with what I did for Harry?"

"Did _to_ , Severus. Do keep that in mind."

"Oh, very well. Continue."

"You are free, now, to decide that you do wish to atone for your action, for your spell. You do want to atone for casting that spell on Potter without her permission, don't you, Severus?"

"I can't just say that, think it, and make it true."

"Fair enough. Does that mean that you truly believe you've done nothing wrong?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know she didn't give me permission, but I was only trying to protect her!"

Spellen raised an eyebrow. "Yes, so you were. Did Potter need your protection?"

"I saved Harry's life on more than one occasion!"

"Severus. Think. Does Harry Potter need your protection?"

Opening his eyes, Severus saw that Spellen was no longer smiling. "No," he whispered. "I don't suppose she does."

"Excellent! You're well on your way to saving your own bacon," Spellen said, striding toward Severus and clapping him on the shoulder. "I've got to leave, but think on this in the remaining time. What does Miss Potter need from you? What do you need from her?"

"There isn't time for riddles, man!"

"No, there really isn't, my friend. Good luck. Oh, and Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Come see me at the Guild when this is over. I expect you'll need a bracer."

"I thought you told me never to drink again while on Guild property?"

"True, but I was speaking of tea—or I could always plant my foot up your arse!"

Severus could not help himself. He smiled. _Tea it is_.

~*~

Harry was sitting on her bed, staring at the slim volume of Shakespearean sonnets that Percy had given her for her birthday. She did not read often, something that had always troubled Hermione and annoyed Percy, but the sonnets were easy to take. They were short, and Percy had been thoughtful enough—at least, that was how Harry chose to consider it—to provide her with an annotated edition of them.

 _I don't need the annotations for this one_ , Harry thought, frowning at Sonnet One Sixteen. "'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds'," she read, setting the book aside and standing up. "How is it love when your lover changes you so that he doesn't have to deal with your dealing with how you've changed?" _And when did I start thinking of Severus as my lover_?

Harry sighed. She was not at all sure how to think about Severus any longer. 

_Ginny's right. I am in love with him. How is that possible_? _And what does it matter_? _Severus has never told me he loves me. Severus is just_ . . . . "Fuck. I don't know what the hell he is," Harry said, smoothing down her formal robes and walking over to her desk to glare at the Portkey she had placed there.

Healer Spriggs had told Harry that, while she might find using a Portkey disorienting, it would not harm Justine, so Harry had prepared her invitation to Severus' Ritual of Reckoning as instructed the previous evening, rising several times during the night with the thought of burning it. Curiosity had prevented her from doing so, curiosity, and the fact that Harry did want to see Severus again. As furious with him as she was, she missed him.

 _I can't let the Arbiter Wizengamot take his magic. I just can't. No matter what he's done to me, his work's important. It wouldn't be right to_ —

Dobby appeared. "Harry Potter, can Molly Weasley be coming up?"

"Molly's here? Sure, send her up."

Dobby disappeared, and Harry checked herself in the mirror. She did not want Molly fussing over her appearance. It was embarrassing.

"I think I'll do," she told herself, as she heard Molly's knock. "Come in."

"Oh, you look lovely, Harry. That shade of blue is—"

"Slimming?" Harry replied, half-grinning.

"I know you're not worried about that sort of thing."

"Well, just because I feel like a baby whale doesn't mean I need to look like one."

"You're not as big as I ever was so close to my time—but where are you going?"

"Um, well," Harry said, thinking quickly, "I thought I'd go visit Hagrid."

"That's good, dear. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. I'm sorry to pop 'round without warning, but—"

"It's fine, Molly, really. Why don't you sit down and tell me why you're here. I'm uh, I'm going to keep standing, I think."

Molly smiled. "I don't blame you. Just see that you don't tire yourself out. How are you getting to Hogwarts? You're not Portkeying, are you?"

"Why? Spriggs said—"

"Oh, it's safe enough, but, in your condition, you'll want to be careful of the landing. If you think getting out of a chair is difficult . . . ."

"I'll be careful. Hagrid'll be there to help me if I bollocks up my landing."

Molly looked down at her hands. "I'm not sure you'll care, but I thought you should know."

"What? What's happened?"

"It's nothing to worry about. Fleur's just taken a turn, is all."

Harry's eyes widened. Fleur was just into her second trimester, which was the period in which she had lost her other babies. 

"Molly, no matter how angry I am at Fleur, I'd never wish—is she all right? Does she need anything? How's—"

"She's very well, now, just a bit weak. Her healer was trying to find Severus, but . . . ."

Harry bit her lower lip. _I can't tell Molly where Severus is, can I_? _If he doesn't complete the ritual_ —

"Harry?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was saying that Fleur is fine. The healers just don't—well, let's just say that they've stabilized her and are keeping her at St. Mungo's until Severus is found. Of course, given how he's been, lately, I don't know—"

"I have to go, Molly. I think I might be able to find Severus. As soon as I do—"

"You shouldn't be worrying about this in your condition," Molly protested.

"—I'll send him to the hospital, all right? That is why you came, isn't it? You thought I'd know where Severus might be?"

Molly sighed. "I'd feel better if Severus were to examine Fleur, yes, but I didn't mean for you to search for him, yourself."

"Don't worry. I'll have Hagrid with me. Please, Molly, go be with Fleur."

When Molly left, Harry took a deep breath, checked the clock, and sighed. _Damn it_! _Four minutes_. 

That was long enough for her to become nervous again about Severus' intentions. 

_Whatever he really wants, I hope we can sort it out quickly_ , Harry thought, placing her hand on the seal of the letter-Portkey.

A tall, severe-looking woman stepped forward to catch Harry as her feet hit the floor of the Arbitration Hall and she stumbled.

"Welcome, Harry James Potter," the witch said, steadying Harry. "Are you well? Do you require anything?"

Harry looked around. The Arbitration Hall was a large circular marble hall with no visible sign of entry. She and the witch with her were the only people in the room.

"I'm all right, thank you."

The witch released Harry and said, "I'm Amphitrite Merrythought, the Arbiter Wizengamot. It is an honor to meet you, Miss Potter."

Harry smiled her "it's-nice-to-meet-you-too" smile and asked, "I didn't think I was early."

"The Reckoner will join us at my summons. I wished to see to your comfort before we began. Traveling by Portkey is no easy matter for a witch so near her time."

"That's true," Harry said, forcing herself to remain calm. 

"Something troubles you?" the Arbiter asked, peering at Harry in a manner she found disturbingly familiar.

Harry did not even bother to Occlude her thoughts. Something told her it would be a waste of time. Instead, she allowed her worries for Fleur rise to the surface of her mind as she held Merrythought's gaze.

"Ah. I see. Perhaps I should have Pontius contact St. Mungo's and ascertain Mrs. Weasley's condition before we begin?"

"I'd appreciate it."

"One moment."

Merrythought made no movement, but almost at once, an unassuming wizard walked through the wall.

"At once, Arbiter," the faded man said, without ever hearing Merrythought speak, before exiting the way he had entered.

"Wow. He's a ghost, isn't he?"

"Indeed. How discerning of you. Most people never notice Pontius' condition."

"You call being dead a condition?"

"Pontius does. Now then, do you understand what the Ritual of Reckoning is?"

"You're just being polite, aren't you?"

"Yes," Merrythought said, smiling slightly, "you're most discerning. I expect it helps that you're not afraid of me."

Harry smiled. "After evil wizards . . . ."

"Of course," Merrythought replied, conjuring Harry and herself chairs. When they had both sat down, she continued, "You assume that, because I can read you, I am doing so, but I only took that which you offered. It would be clear enough to anyone that you're distressed. I give you my word that I will not invade your privacy."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Of course, during the ritual, your thoughts must be open to me."

"Oh. Well, all right."

"If that is not acceptable to you, you need not participate."

"No, I want to—it's fine."

"I appreciate your courage, Miss Potter."

"I don't know if it's courage so much as . . . ."

"Concern?"

"Yes. That's one way to put it."

"Do you understand what is to be done here today?"

"I think so," Harry said, fidgeting a bit.

"Would you tell me, so that there is no room for misunderstanding?"

"Severus is here to . . . I think he's using the ritual as a way to see me, but he should be here to apologize?"

Before the Arbiter could respond, Pontius entered the hall again. "Mrs. Fleur Weasley is well, for the moment, but her healer would like to consult with the Reckoner about her condition."

"Thank you, Pontius. We'll begin momentarily."

"Am I right?" Harry asked, relieved to know that Fleur was not in any immediate danger, but concerned nonetheless.

"Nearly, but what the Reckoner wishes to accomplish and what actually occurs during the Ritual of Reckoning are often rather different. Acknowledgment and justice, those are what we seek in this hall. Severus Tobias Snape will speak truthfully about his actions toward you and be judged accordingly."

"But I get to help decide his punishment?"

"Your voice has weight with me, as the Concerned Person, yes."

"But you make the final decision?"

"I am the Arbiter Wizengamot, and the Reckoner is bound to obey my judgment on pain of death."

Harry's eyes widened. "No one said anything about death!"

"It rarely comes to that, my dear, but what good would this process be if there were no true penalty for failing to see it through?"

"That idiot!"

"What of the Reckoner?"

"I can't believe he'd—I mean, I'm sure you wouldn't be unfair, but what was he thinking?"

"I believe you understand perfectly what he was thinking."

"I don't want Severus to . . . I'm worried . . . this is just more than, more serious, than I thought."

"It is not your doing. It was his choice, however haphazardly he made it. Have you any questions for me before we begin? Once the Reckoner enters the Arbitration Hall, none may leave until judgment is passed."

 _That's comforting. Shite_. "No, no questions."

"While it is customary for all participants to stand during the ritual," Merrythought said, rising, herself, "I believe you should have the option to sit if you wish. Do you?"

"Yes, but first, could I . . . is there a loo?"


	8. Chapter 8

Severus left St. Mungo's through Emergency, walking out into the magically expanded alley behind Purge and Dowse that was the Apparation courtyard. As he did, he took note of two medistaffers wearing garish, lime-green robes standing near the back of it. 

They were smoking something that did not smell like tobacco.

"You lot, put those out and give me the rest of it," Severus snapped, drawing himself up as menacingly as the pain in his lower back would allow. "I don't want to catch you smoking this shite on hospital property again."

"Sod you, you—"

"Yes, sir!" one of them said, dropping his fag and reaching into his robes.

"Benny, what are you—"

"That's Severus Snape, you idiot," Benny said, passing Severus a bag and dragging his friend back inside.

Severus smirked, enjoying the fact that some people still feared him and contemplating partaking of his acquisition. He quickly decided against it. Standing most of the day and night had given him the kind of backache that only a proper analgesic potion could cure.

 _And this wouldn't do anything for my stomach_.

Severus had felt vaguely nauseated since leaving the Arbitration Hall, and dealing with the results of Fleur Weasley's dangerous, ungrateful, and foolish behavior had sickened him further.

 _I told her not to eat any raw cheeses_! Severus inwardly groused, furious that Fleur had completely ignored the dietary proscriptions he had set for her. _And why didn't she keep her potions in a cool place as I instructed_?

For a woman who thought that she would make a better mother than a wizard-turned-witch, Fleur had behaved with abominable stupidity.

Rubbing his lower back with one hand, Severus tossed down the bag of illicit dried fungus with the other and then drew his wand. " _Incendio_!" he cast, kicking the burning bag with his foot and looking up to see Healer Krum emerge from the building. 

"Are you vell?"

Severus grunted a greeting.

Viktor pulled a packet of fags out of his robes and offered one to Severus, saying "I do not like some of these new medistaffers. Their behavior could cause problems."

"They clean," Severus replied, feeling perverse as he accepted one of Krum's cigarettes. "How could smoking a bit of Goblin's Toe possibly cause behavioral problems?" _Eventual blindness and green skin are more likely_.

"They are not all janitors. Think of the paperwork mistakes they might make vhile intoxicated—and they are disorganized. To smoke such trash," Viktor continued, gesturing at the ashes at Severus' feet, "it is not being a good team member, I think. My old coach vould've had their hides."

"Your old coach," Severus remarked, wincing in pain and wondering why it was that he was making small talk when he could have been at the Leaky Cauldron drinking the dinner he had missed. _And the lunch_.

"Vas strict, but sometimes, I miss the discipline. Even at Durmstrang under Karkaroff, their vas an order to things."

"I expect your old coach was nothing to Karkaroff. The man liked his Quidditch."

"He vas alvays most angry vhen ve did not perform vell, true. Vas Karkaroff a friend?"

"No," Severus replied, staring at Krum without blinking and thinking, _I don't want to talk about Karkaroff_.

"Karkaroff vas most fearful of the effects of drugs and potions. He vould have killed any athlete who used them."

 _Enforced testimony under Veritaserum would make anyone afraid of potions_ , Severus thought, remembering what Albus had told him about Karkaroff's private interrogation sessions in Azkaban. "I don't think he would have done that."

"No?"

"No. I think he would have given their names to the Aurors," Severus said, coughing and then spitting with some force. "Getting too old to treat my lungs like shite, I expect."

Viktor looked into Severus' face. "It is not the cigarette only that you have been smoking."

 _Fuck. So much for small talk with a healer_. "It's been weeks since—"

"It takes veeks for the constituents ov Goblin's Toe to leave one's system—bad lingering avects it has."

"I am a Potions master."

"Yes, you should know better."

" _Krum_."

"Forgive me. I do not like to gossip, but here at St. Mungo's, it finds me. . . . It has been hard for you, I think."

Severus exhaled and tossed away his fag. "I'm out of the business of gossiping. Thanks for the fag."

"I vas only meaning to show concern. I meant no disrespect. I vill go."

"Krum."

"Vhat?"

"Your concern is unnecessary, but . . . thank you."

"You are velcome. It is difficult, change."

Severus had heard from Percy about Krum's behavior toward the dying Hermione Granger, how Krum had not spoken to anyone since her funeral, and decided, for Percy's sake, to offer the healer what minor comfort he could. "I know that she was fond of you. She used to talk about you incessantly before classes."

Viktor started, but then he smiled grimly. "You vere never like Karkaroff, Snape. You were brave—a spy and a soldier vhile I played a game like a boy until injuries took me. It . . . it shames me to speak to so good a man."

Severus was too surprised by Krum's words to do anything but shake Viktor's emphatically offered hand and then watch him return to the building. But, mulling over the misguided wizard's words, he thought, _No, I wasn't like Igor. I was worse. I served_.

At the ritual, Amphitrite Merrythought had brought up Severus' time as a Death Eater, asking Harry, "You say that you respect this man, this man who was key to the destruction of your family. How is that possible, Harry James Potter?"

 _How, indeed_? Severus wondered, deciding that he needed to eat before he was ill. _How could Harry defend me when she knows better_?

Harry knew more than anyone about Severus' past. That was not much, but it was something.

"There is a bond between you," the Arbiter Wizengamot had told them, "that is deeper than most wedded couples can boast—yet it did not develop normally. This is, I believe, the source of the conflict between you, and part of the reason Severus Tobias Snape felt he could act upon your will as he did. There is trust without truth between you."

"'Truth' didn't seem to help much," Severus muttered, Disapparating to the Leaky Cauldron and wondering how riddles were supposed to help matters.

He bought a room and a bottle and took himself to bed, half-regretting the burning of the Goblin's Toe because he did not have any analgesic potions with him.

 _No more standing for long periods_ , he promised himself, pulling off his boots and cursing his back before pouring cheap whisky down his throat. "Gah! Awful."

The burn of bad alcohol did nothing for his stomach and worsened Severus' mood, which had been bad before he had arrived at the hospital because Harry had not forgiven him.

The Ritual of Reckoning had not gone as he had expected.

"Would it have killed her to have shown even an iota of gratitude?" Severus asked the ceiling in exasperation, lying back against the pillows in a futile attempt to make himself comfortable. 

He briefly thought about seeking Spellen out for that cup of tea the Highmaster had promised him, but decided against it because, at such a late hour, he knew that the alternative kick in the arse might be more readily offered.

Severus felt there was no place where he might go and be welcomed.

Harry had not looked pleased to see him, not even a little bit, and that concerned him. Of greater concern to him, however, was how Harry had become furious when he had admitted to casting the Spell of Acceptance upon her, in part, out of a sense of duty.

The crackle of rising magic around Harry in that moment had been more than a little alarming.

"I don't need your protection. I don't want your protection!" she had exclaimed, while darkness had gathered in her eyes.

 _And that was terrifying_.

"Enough," Merrythought had said, and Harry had calmed herself at once.

Severus remained impressed by the Arbiter's demeanor in the face of so much power.

 _But I don't understand why Harry should mind my . . . caring for her_. 

He also had no idea what Merrythought believed her judgment would prove, and he was almost certain that there was no way the Arbiter could effect her sentence.

" _Poetic_ " _justice, my arse_ , Severus thought sulkily, falling into a fitful sleep and dreaming that Harry did not want him to care for her.

It was an old nightmare.

He woke several times—once from a nightmare that involved Karkaroff's dreadful drunken singing, once from the pain in his strained back, and once from the unnerving sensation of feeling as though he had pissed himself.

 _I'm never taking anything stronger than tobacco or whisky again. Gods_!

Sheer exhaustion finally forced Severus to sleep more than a few hours, but when he woke again sometime after noon, it was from agony.

Body parts that he did not have felt as though they were being stretched, and his back and stomach were cramping so badly that, when he attempted to rise from the bed, he doubled over and pitched forward out of it.

Severus instinctively clutched at his abdomen as he fell.

~*~

Harry's water broke just after three in the morning. She had known what to expect, but, waking up to a wet bed unsettled her so badly that she began to cry. She managed to calm herself enough to fire-call Molly, who Floo'd to Grimmauld at once to help Harry pack some things and return to the Burrow.

By noon, Harry was in terrible pain, but she bore it out of spite.

 _Severus should feel all of it_ , she thought, gritting her teeth and sustaining her state of obdurateness with fury and disappointment. "Bastard! He's . . . a bastard!" she yelled, while Molly and Ginny looked on worriedly.

Molly squeezed Harry's hand. "You should take a potion, dear. It won't hurt Justine, I prom—"

" _No_."

"Harry, there's no reason to allow yourself to suffer. You . . . you know it wasn't your fault, don't you?"

"This isn't . . . about Ron," Harry forced herself to say, becoming frightened as she realized that she had not taken her morning calming draught. _Don't think about Ron. Just, just_ —agh! God, it's . . . it's awful."

"That's why you should take something," Molly replied.

"I don't think you should push her, Mum," Ginny interjected. "Look," she continued, wiping Harry's tear- and sweat-dampened face with a cool cloth, "I think I know what you're doing, and it's all right, but if the pain gets too bad, you really should take something."

Harry yelled her way through another contraction before demanding, "How long?"

"About three minutes that time," Ginny said. "Try to take deep brea—"

"Don't tell me how to breathe!"

"What are you trying to do, Harry?" Molly asked, standing up and walking to the door, shouting out of it, "Daphne!"

"Mum, I told you that we shouldn't press her."

"Well," Molly replied, returning to her chair, "if she's trying to prove she's . . . she's man enough to take the pain—"

"I'm right here. Stop," Harry said, breathing heavily, "talking about me . . . as if . . . I weren't. This is bad enou—fuck! What's happening? Why—"

The door opened, and Daphne Greengrass walked into the room. "Her contractions are how far apart, now?"

"They'renotstopping!" Harry exclaimed, before yelling incoherently again.

"Right. Enough of this shrieking and bearing it shite," Daphne said crisply, drawing her wand. "I don't care how much you want the full-witch experience. If you thrash about, it will only make my job more difficult."

Harry glared at Daphne's wand and demanded, "Well?"

" _Alleviatus_!"

At once, Harry relaxed into the bed. "Th—thanks."

"You're welcome. That charm should last about twenty minutes or so. Let me know when you need it recast," Daphne said, before turning to Molly and asking, "How far apart?"

"About three minutes, but this last one lasted quite a while."

"Probably entering the second stage, then. Harry, you remember that I told you your contractions would last a bit longer at this point?"

Wearily, Harry nodded. 

"Well, let's have a look, shall we?" Daphne asked, walking to the end of the bed and drawing up the sheet. 

"Wrong end," Harry whispered.

Daphne snorted. "That's probably true, but midwifery pays loads more than mind-healing. . . . Well, you're about to have a baby."

 _I know that, you stupid bint_ , Harry thought, wondering how Severus was feeling.

The Ritual of Reckoning had not gone as she had expected. 

After a bizarre recitation by Severus of his wrongdoings, which the Arbiter had interrupted several times by saying, "the Reckoner must be explicit," Merrythought had invited Severus to explain his motivations.

Harry had almost lost control of herself when he had.

 _I knew he was just trying to protect me_ , she thought, feeling miserable and alone.

"Yes, but why did you feel that it was your duty to do this?" Merrythought had pressed Severus.

"Because he thinks I'm incompetent!"

"Harry James Potter, you will please allow the Reckoner to speak."

Harry had learned a lot of things about Severus during the ritual.

 _But he never said anything about love_ , she thought sadly, groaning as her contractions became more intense. "Feel that, you bastard?"

"Who, dear?" Molly asked.

 _It doesn't matter. All that matters now is Justine. I can't fail Ron and Hermione. I've got to_ — "Oh! Why—I thought you said it was time!"

"And I thought you were going to ask me for another pain alleviation when you needed one."

"Harry," Ginny whispered, "don't you think he's suffered enough?"

"No. Not yet," she insisted, bearing down.

"Wait," Daphne ordered. 

"Why? You said I could push!"

"I don't want your perineum to tear. Give your body some time to adjust."

"But it feels—"

" _Alleviatus_!"

"I didn't . . . ask for that," Harry said, panting.

"Molly, Ginny, would you excuse us, please?"

Ginny leaned down to kiss Harry's forehead and walked out of the room, but Molly protested.

"I don't think Harry wants to be alone."

"Harry?" Daphne asked.

"It's . . . it's all right."

When they were alone, Daphne said, "Who's this 'bastard' you've been screaming about?"

Harry closed her eyes.

"Don't ignore me. I have the impression that you're 'sharing' this experience with someone, and, as he isn't here, I'm going to assume that it isn't by his choice. That is unacceptable, Potter."

"It is . . . it was his choice, sort of."

Daphne wiped Harry's brow, saying, "Make me understand it, Harry, or I'm going to cast a stronger relief spell and report your behavior to Kingsley Shacklebolt after we're done here."

Harry sighed resentfully but did as Daphne asked.

"Snape forced you to accept your female state, so the Arbiter Wizengamot thought that he should experience just what, exactly, being a woman could mean?"

"Yeah," Harry panted.

"How is that going to teach the git not to make your decisions for you?"

"I don't . . . know but . . . but it was . . . his choice," Harry said, in between pushes.

"I understand that, Harry, but there are better ways to express your needs to your partner," Daphne chided. "What you're doing now can only lead to Snape developing some sort of Labor Away potion."

"Don't tell . . . anyone . . . please," Harry said, in between pushes.

"Don't worry. I won't. But I think that you should talk to him."

"Why? He won't . . . oh! Damn, it's—he won't listen."

"From what you've said, you never actually tried to make him listen."

"Could we not . . . I have to—gnrt!"

"Easy, it's all right. Just keep pushing—you're crowning. That's why—"

"I'm on fire! It's _burning_. Oh, FUCK!"

"Harry?" Molly asked, opening the door. "I'm coming in. It's all right, dear. You're doing so well," she continued, taking Harry's hand.

But Harry could only yell in response. Her response was lengthy.

"Come on, Harry," Daphne urged, sometime later. "Big push! Good, very good. One more, I think. Push!"

The sound of a crying infant burst into the room.

"Oh, Harry!" Molly exclaimed. "You've done it, dear!"

"Want to . . . see her," Harry said, forgetting about everything and everyone else in the face of her desire to see her child.

Harry had read that some witches did not feel as if the children they carried were real during their pregnancies. It was a concept she did not understand and had not shared, but, until Justine's birth, Harry had not truly considered Justine to be hers. As Daphne placed Justine in her arms, however, Harry could not imagine her child belonging to anyone else.

"Justine," she murmured sleepily, pressing her nose lightly to the top of the baby's head and inhaling deeply. "My daughter." _Would I have been able to feel this way about you if Severus hadn't_ —

"She's so beautiful, Harry," Molly said, sniffling a bit. "Would you mind if Arthur came in? He's been hovering by the door for hours."

"No, of course not, but . . . ."

"Yes, dear?"

"Molly, it's all right, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"For . . . for me to consider Justine mine?"

"Oh, Harry," Molly said, gently wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders and hugging her. "You're Justine's mother, and you'll be a wonderful one."

"Even though Fleur—"

"Is it safe?" a male voice asked.

"Arthur, come and see your new granddaughter," Molly said, beginning to cry as she stood up.

"I'll just be a moment, dear."

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

"Don't you worry about Molly," Arthur said, thickly. "She's always this way when a new one comes. Hello, Justine," he continued, sounding very formal as he sat on the edge of Harry's bed and started counting the baby's fingers. "It's always good when there are ten."

Harry laughed.

"And how's Mum doing?"

"Sore," Harry said, flushing a bit in embarrassment.

"Very brave, I think."

Suddenly, a wave of sadness washed over Harry. "Would you?" she asked, offering Justine to Arthur, who took her at once, looking delighted. "I wanted things to be . . . different."

"I know, Harry. We all did, but Ron and Hermione would be so proud if they could see you now, so grateful."

"I should have been able to save them," Harry whispered, as a tear ran down her cheek. "What good is being so powerful   
if . . . ."

"Miss Greengrass?" Arthur asked. "Would you get Justine settled and give Harry and I a moment?"

"It would be my pleasure. Come here, you," Daphne said, cooing a bit and leaving the room.

Arthur wiped Harry's tear away and then took her hands. "Molly Weasley is the love of my life, as you may have suspected."

Harry sniffled. "I guess that's good, considering."

Arthur grinned, though his eyes were full of remorse. "She's given me her friendship, her love, and our family, and I've kept her in, at best, what you could call genteel poverty—but she's never complained."

"I don't understand what—"

"Shh," Arthur said mildly. "I'm interfering."

Harry smiled.

"Molly could have married a much better man, a richer one, a more ambitious one, but she chose me, and I've never had cause to regret anything in my life because of that, because of her support. Not all couples can say that."

"I guess not," Harry answered, still confused.

"The thing is, Harry, that, even though our lives haven't been easy, even though we've had some rough patches, we got through them because we had each other. I'm a lucky man to have found a partner to trust and love in this life. Do you understand?"

"I don't think Molly could have found a better man, Mr.—Arthur."

"I won't gain anything by arguing with you, so I won't. However, I think it's clear—to all of us—that you've got someone like Molly, too."

"Severus."

"Yes. Severus."

"I don't want to talk about him," Harry said, turning away her head.

Arthur turned her chin so that she was looking at him again. "Harry, Percy and I've been talking again. I know about the Ritual of Reckoning. I imagine it was . . . difficult, and I think I know why."

"How?"

"Before I answer that, let me say this: Molly and I have always been proud to consider you our child. I know it wasn't the same. We're not your parents, but we loved you as well as we could."

"I know. I . . . ."

"That's all right. I know how you feel. You don't have to tell me. I know. It's not always an easy thing to say, to tell someone, is it? Some people have to let their actions say 'I love you' for them."

Harry swallowed, hard. "But he . . . he won't listen to me. He just does things."

"And that's a problem, but it's not insurmountable, is it?"

" _Harry Potter has always been my concern_ ," Harry remembered Severus saying during the ritual. _He can't say it_. "Why? Why can't he say it? Why can't he just be normal?"

"When you're rested, why don't you ask him?" Arthur suggested, leaning down to kiss Harry on her forehead. "Now, I couldn't have done that when you were a wizard, could I?"

"No," Harry said, smiling in spite of herself. "It would have been weird."

"I'll let you sleep now, but try and think about what I've said. And Harry?"

"Ye—es?" Harry asked, through a yawn.

"Nothing in your life has been normal, but that doesn't mean you can't start having a normal life, does it?"

"I guess not. I mean, sure."

"And what would be more normal then for you to bring a suitor 'home' to secure the approval of your family?" Arthur asked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Harry laughed and snuggled down more deeply into the bed as Arthur shut the door. _If Severus thought feeling my labor was bad_ . . . .


	9. Chapter 9

Spellen was laughing at him again.

 _Bastard_ , Severus thought, ignoring Spellen as he added a pinch of dragon's blood to the tiny cauldron that he was stirring.

"I thought you were working on a counter-charm for that love spell?" the Highmaster asked, entering Severus' lab and sitting himself down on a stool.

"It's done. I've sent Madam Pomfrey the particulars just this morning."

"Ah. Well, it's good to see you working at anything after your recent experience."

Severus stiffened. _He's never going to stop bringing it up, is he_? _Damned tracking charms_!

Spellen, alerted by his charms, had found Severus at the Leaky Cauldron during his "labor."

"I'm still waiting for a show of gratitude from you, you know."

"You laughed at me!" Severus yelled, turning on Spellen and brandishing his spoon.

Spellen raised his eyebrows in mock alarm.

"If you would excuse me, Highmaster," Severus said, turning back to his cauldron, "I'm—"

"No doubt working on some sort of 'Labor Away' potion," a familiar, unexpected feminine voice said.

Severus went rigid.

"Well," said Spellen, "I'll leave you to your guest. It was lovely to meet you, Miss Potter."

"Thank you for bringing me down here, sir," Harry replied, walking to stand in front of Severus.

He stared into his cauldron, stirring it carefully and not evincing any sign that he knew Harry was present.

"Aren't you even going to look at me?"

 _I'm afraid to look at you_ , Severus thought, meeting Harry's eyes in spite of himself. "It . . . you don't look like a witch who gave birth a month ago."

Harry smirked, but there was no pleasure in her eyes. "You don't look forty-five."

"My birthday was a week ago."

"Happy," Harry replied, her voice emotionless.

"It wasn't."

"Your fault, I expect."

"As all things are, according to you," Severus snapped, ceasing his stirring and placing a lid on his cauldron. "Why are you here?"

 _Because I'm trying to decide if I hate you, you prat_. "Aren't you going to ask after Justine?"

"Percy tells me she's well. . . . I'm glad of that." _I'm glad you're well, Harry_.

"What's Goblin's Toe?" Harry asked, as she began to walk around the laboratory.

 _Shite_. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Harry replied casually, stopping to examine something with too many eyes to count that was staring out of a green, fluid-filled jar.

Severus sat down at his desk and sighed. "It's a fungus that grows in the Gringott's vault caves, among other places, that is dried, crumbled, and rolled into—"

"Blunts and smoked."

"If you knew the answer, why did you ask?"

"And people smoke it, why?"

"Because it makes things seem . . . better, brighter."

"Right. So bright and crisp that it damages the optic nerves—what a wonderful way to spend time that must have been for you," Harry said, coming to lean against Severus' desk.

"You seem . . . remarkably well-rested."

"Calm, I think you mean, and no, I haven't been taking anything. I thought I was—for months, actually—but Dobby—"

Severus sat up in consternation. "Your house elf can interfere with you, but I can't?"

"Dobby was only following orders."

"How? I knew you'd take—"

"I was ill, nauseated, and asked Dobby to make sure I didn't take anything to make me sick again. I was talking about food, but you know how literal he is."

"Why didn't you—"

"Break down?" Harry asked, folding her arms against her chest as if she were cold. "He apparently weaned me off of the elixir I was taking. I didn't notice. The rest was me—so you see, I'm not the weak—"

"I never thought you were weak."

"Then why?"

"Because it's—" 

Severus stopped himself from speaking. He had no desire to anger Harry.

 _Don't make her leave_. "Because . . . . I know you don't want to hear it, but it's difficult to stop doing something after doing it for so long."

Harry felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, but she took a deep breath and calmed herself, thinking, _He's talking to you. That's good, isn't it_? _Just don't let him stop_. "All right."

"What does that mean?" Severus asked, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand toward the stool to bring it closer to the desk. Transfiguring it into a chair, he continued, "Since we're being so polite . . . ."

"Thank you," Harry replied, moving to the chair.

Severus noticed the black circles under Harry's eyes then and wondered if she was truly as well as she had previously seemed. "You've been crying."

"I went to the . . . the ruins today." _They weren't there_ , she thought, looking down at her hands.

"You were looking for them, weren't you?"

"You think I'm stupid?"

"No."

Harry looked up, unshed tears shining in her eyes. "Yeah, I was, but they weren't there. Percy says Ron would never have wanted to . . . get in the way, and Hermione was always fascinated by what might lie behind the Veil. I knew she wouldn't be there."

"Why did you go, then?"

"To say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye and also, and also to tell them about Justine."

"Just in case they were . . . listening," Severus said, uncertain as to what he should do. _You shouldn't just sit here and watch her cry_ , he thought, watching the tears roll down Harry's cheeks. "I don't know what to say to you."

"Well, you might try talking to me anyway, you know, without an Arbiter."

"You might have let Spriggs give you something stronger for the pain."

"It was Daphne Greengrass, actually, and you'll be happy to know that she insisted on giving me something for it, anyway. She threatened to report me."

"You made me suffer," Severus replied tightly.

"You did that to yourself," Harry snapped, "and what you did to me—"

"I was trying to help."

Harry stood up.

Severus stood up, as well, so quickly that his chair shot backward into a shelf. Jars broke, and an unpleasant smell rose up into the room.

"Don't go."

"I wasn't going. I just—shouldn't you deal with that?" Harry asked, leaning over the desk and pointing at the slime that was spreading underneath of Severus' feet.

"I don't care about the mess," Severus insisted, bending down to kiss Harry.

She drew back immediately and turned her head sharply to glare at the ooze on the floor, which was eating through the soles of Severus' shoes. It disappeared.

Severus looked down, startled. "How did you—"

"Sit down and take those off," Harry ordered, pointing at Severus' shoes. Holding up her hand, she called, " _Accio burn salve_!" and a jar levitated itself to her.

Sitting down and putting his naked feet up on the desk next to where Harry had sat down, Severus asked, "You can Vanish a mess with a thought, but not my burns?"

"Oh, I could, but I don't want to."

"Thanks for that."

"Not because I want you to hurt, you git—because doing that sort of thing means dealing with _him_."

Severus felt a coldness spread through his stomach.

Harry sighed in annoyance as she rubbed the salve into Severus' feet. "No, I don't mean what you think. Voldemort's consciousness is gone, but the . . . his knowledge, I still have it. I keep it bound up, you might say—something I worked out with Daphne."

"That's . . . impressive. How?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"But you can talk to Daphne."

Harry stopped her ministrations and glared at Severus, who glared back.

"Damn it! I would have gone crazy. I had to talk to her—you didn't help me."

Severus pulled his feet away and tried to stand, but he slipped and fell back into his chair. 

"Just keep still," Harry insisted, reaching for one of Severus' legs.

"No. Don't. Why?"

"I just told you that."

"Why always ask for my help—and then blame. Me. For. Giving. It?"

"Urngh!" Harry exclaimed, slamming down the jar and pushing herself off the desk to loom over Severus. "You stupid fuck. I never asked you to do anything but Obliviate me!"

"Albus said—"

"Albus! _Albus_ said! Albus said 'protect him and don't let him die'—that wasn't me! I just wanted you to lo—damn it, Severus, I—"

Severus was on his feet quickly at Harry's aborted declaration. "What were you going to say?" he demanded, seizing Harry by the shoulders. _Tell me, please. Harry, tell me that_ —

Harry jerked away and stalked around to the desk's other side, turning her back on Severus.

"Harry."

"No. You don't get declarations. Not yet. Maybe . . . ."

"Don't say 'not ever'. Please."

Harry spun around, the shock plain on her face. "You're saying 'please' to me? You think you have a right to ask me anything?"

"If I didn't, you would not be here," Severus replied, with far more certainty than he felt.

"Why should I say something I'm not likely—this is stupid. I don't know why I came here. I'm going."

"You should _know_ , you idiot. You should know by now how I feel for you."

Harry uttered a humorless laugh. "Don't you get it? I don't know. All I know is that you keep protecting me, treating me like I can't—"

"You killed the Dark Lord, Harry. I know that you can pro—"

"Voldemort."

"Stop that."

"I said, 'Voldemort'," Harry repeated, walking back around the desk to stare up at Severus. "Voldemort. Voldemort. Volde—"

"STOP!"

Harry did stop because she had never seen Severus visibly tremble before. Suddenly, she felt horribly guilty, and her anger fled. 

Reaching out a hand, Harry tried to lay it on Severus' chest, but he jerked away from her as if afraid of her touch.

"No. No," he whispered. "It's a lie. All of this is."

"What?"

"You. This. You don't get to comfort me when you don't want to love me."

Harry watched Severus, his head bowed, as his shoulders began to shake. Her eyes widened.

 _Fuck. I made him cry. I made_ — "Severus, stop. Stop," Harry begged, wrapping her arms around him and holding him, despite his stiffening frame. "That's not true. You think . . . ? Severus, of course I want you to love me. I've always thought that you didn't want to love me."

Severus sniffed, loudly, and looked at Harry. "You . . . have? You mean, you've been such a—so angry because of that?"

Harry drew away and raised an irritated eyebrow. "Oh, no. You don't get to think that, you—you know I'm mad at you, and you know I have a right to be. You can't do things to me—for me—near me without my consent!"

"But you love—"

"Does it matter when we can't even talk to each other?"

"It matters to me," Severus replied. _Fuck. What a sniveling idiot I am_! he thought, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. 

The set of Harry's jaw relaxed a bit. "Fine. I love you, Severus. I don't know why, but I do."

 _Harry. Harry, you love me_! Attempting to preserve what little dignity he felt he had left, Severus forced himself not to grin like a fool and replied, "I know exactly why I love you."

 _Don't you dare cry_ , Harry ordered herself, staring into Severus' eyes and trying to understand how she could be so furious, happy, and relieved all at once. _This doesn't change things, Harry_ , she counseled herself, wondering what to do. 

Things were far from settled.

"This doesn't change things, Severus. We're still—"

"My potion!" Severus exclaimed, rushing back to the vessel and beginning to tend to it.

Harry was gobsmacked. "We're in the middle of something!"

"Yes, fighting, but I still need to tend this—it's for Mrs. Weasley."

"You mean Fleur?" Harry asked, placing her hands on her hips. "And since when did two people declaring mutual love become fighting?"

Severus looked up and said, "Since we tried to do it."

Harry smirked. 

Severus grinned.

Harry went back to feeling gobsmacked. It did not last long.

Frowning, she asked, "Why can't you say his name?"

"His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle," Severus quipped, without looking up.

 _But that isn't the name that scares you_. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to make you do it. I was angry."

"You're still angry."

"If it's any consolation, I'm still terrified of him."

 _It's not_. "Would you hand me that jar on the worktable?"

Harry levitated the jar toward Severus' shoulder without even pretending to use a wand or a gesture, and he took it from the air, nodding to her.

"You've quit."

"What? Being an Auror? You know I have."

"It's a bad idea."

"Have we not just been discussing how I don't need you to tell me what to do?"

"Fuck, Harry, we've said so many things that—honestly, the only things we've said that I give a damn about are—"

Harry strode toward Severus and stopped in front of the cauldron. "Look, stop telling me what to do. Stop thinking you know what's best. Stop. Trying. To. Protect. Me. I won't have you if you don't."

Severus froze. _Try to get rid of me, woman_. "I dare you."

"What?"

"To try to get rid of me."

"Stop it! I'm not . . . I'm not going to smile at you, you prat," Harry retorted, turning away.

Severus replaced the lid on his cauldron and came to stand in front of Harry, but he did not touch her. _Harry_ , he thought, staring down at the top of her head. _Look at me_.

"Don't. Don't do that—you know I don't like it."

"I forgot," Severus said hastily, remembering how much Harry despised Legilimentical communication. "He used to—"

"Yes. Voldemort did," Harry said, regretting her use of the name as Severus flinched. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I—"

Severus wrapped his arms around Harry and drew her into a hug. He was not surprised when she began to shake.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he whispered into her hair, before gently pressing his lips to her head. "You know that I didn't."

Severus felt Harry nod, and held her more tightly.

"Hard," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Why is everything so hard?" Harry said, turning her head up to gaze into Severus' eyes.

"'Life is pain'," Severus intoned, thinking of Spellen.

"What the hell kind of useless philosophy is that?"

Severus grimaced. "One that I'd like to prove wrong?" he asked, holding his breath without realizing it.

 _He's going to suffocate if you don't say something_ , Harry thought, allowing herself to relax. "Severus, I'm a mother now. I can't just be having it off with you whenever—"

"That's not what I meant."

 _Oh. No. Please don't_ —

Severus' shoulders slumped. "You don't want me."

"That's not true."

"I see it in your face. You—"

"Don't pull away," Harry insisted, tightening her hold. "I do want you, but we can't just pretend like everything's perfect—normal."

"What should we do, then? Pretend like we don't care?"

Harry leaned her head against Severus' chest and replied, "I don't actually know what the hell to do, and . . . ."

"And you're exhausted. Come, I'll see you home—or is it the Burrow?"

Harry looked up and, on impulse, kissed Severus.

He did not resist.

When they broke their embrace, Harry said, "I went home today. Fleur and Bill are watching Justine."

"Oh?"

"It's a long story. I don't want to talk about it. Things are . . . fine, though. Apparently, I pass whatever test of French witch motherhood Fleur believes in."

"Good. That means I won't need the poison I've been brewing."

Harry grinned. "Aw, for me? And here I thought that was a pain relief potion."

"How would you know?"

Harry laughed. "Point."


	10. Epilogue

"No, not pixie dust, Justine. It's too unstable for a flying potion—but what has you interested in one of those?" Severus asked his adopted daughter, as she, standing next to him on a stool in front of the kitchen sink, helped him with the post-prandial washing up.

"Russel wants to fly, Daddy."

"Does he?"

"That's what I just said."

"Justine," Severus replied, a reproving tone coloring his voice.

"But I said—"

"Do you wish to attend the hill-rolling with Russel and Uncle Percy?"

"Yes!"

"Then what must you do?" Severus asked, rinsing a plate and handing it to the seven-year-old to dry.

Justine sighed dramatically, drying and stacking the plate before replying, "I mustn't take tones with you."

Severus smirked. "And?"

"I'm sorry for taking a tone with you, Daddy—and I love you," Justine said, smiling up at him in her impish, manipulative manner. "Can I go? Please?"

"Of course you _may_ go."

Justine's sudden grin of triumph flew from her face almost as soon as it had formed, and she frowned. "How come you never tell Mummy when she's wrong?"

Severus affected a scandalized expression and then leaned down to whisper, "Because I know better."

Justine giggled.

"I heard that," Harry called, from the next room.

"How can she hear so well?"

"She eats all her veg," Severus said, pointedly.

Justine wrinkled her nose. "I don't like courgettes. They smell bad."

"Even so. Now, as we're finished here, why don't you get cleaned up while I speak to your mother. We'll talk about flying potions another time."

"You always say that," Justine replied, pouting.

"Stop biting your lower lip," Severus remonstrated. "You wouldn't want to bite it off by accident, would you?"

"I'd never do that!" Justine exclaimed, scrambling off the stool and skipping up the back kitchen stairs.

"She's right, you know."

Severus turned to find Harry standing in the doorway. "About?"

"You always put her off when you think she wants to do something dangerous."

"Seven is too young for flying."

Harry grinned. "You know very well that Ginny and Millicent keep a broomstick for her."

"I do not know that," Severus replied, closing the distance between himself and his wife and pulling her into an embrace. "I refuse . . . to know . . . anything . . . about it," he continued, in between placing light kisses on Harry's face.

Harry leaned into Severus' body and whispered, "I wish Uncle Percy would hurry himself up. I'm in the mood to do a little 'rolling', myself."

"There is nothing 'little' about our rolling."

Harry laughed. "No, not in the second trimester, there isn't."

"You're beautiful," Severus told Harry, sliding a hand down to rest it lightly on the swell of her belly.

  
**Transformare: Epilogue Scene** , by [reallycorking](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)  
(Commissioned in 2006, this artwork is solely for my own use.)

"I never would have pegged you as a fetishist."

Lightly biting a trail up Harry's neck, Severus replied, "You might . . . not want to . . . talk about 'pegging' . . . until Justine leaves. Her hearing's . . . almost as sharp . . . as yours."

"Mmm, you're right, but I doubt it matters. I'm too far along for that sort of—"

At the sound of Justine clattering down the stairs, Harry and Severus broke apart. 

"I'm all ready now, and Uncle Percy's here!"

"Hey!" Harry called, as Justine flew from the room. "Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

Justine raced back into the room, skidded to a stop in front of her mother, kissed Harry's belly before Harry could bend down to kiss her, and then turned to Severus expectantly.

He saluted.

Justine saluted back, saying, "I'llbegoodandlistentoUnclePercyandeatmyvegandbecareful—bye!"

"Hello, Percy!" Severus called, as the sound of his friend's voice rose in the other room.

Harry poked her head out of the kitchen. "Goodbye, Percy."

"I'll have her back by bedtime," Percy said, waving with one hand as Justine grabbed the other.

"Come on!" 

Slam!

"Wait for it," Harry told Severus, as the door could be heard to open again.

"Sorry!" 

Slam!

"She's not," Severus said, turning to smile at Harry.

"Of course she isn't," Harry agreed, holding out her hands for Severus'.

"So, where were we, Professor Snape?"

 _Right where I always wanted to be_.

~*~

Percy stood at the bottom of the hill and watched in concern as Justine and Russel came barreling down it at a higher rate of speed than he felt was strictly safe, thinking, _I was never so reckless when I was their age_!

"Watch out, I'm coming down!" Neville yelled, throwing himself down the hill after the children.

"I wish he wouldn't encourage them like that. Does he have to roll head first?"

"Percy," Luna said, handing him a glass of pumpkin juice, "you worry too much. You know I set cushioning charms into the hill. Nothing's going to happen to them."

"If you say so."

"Oh, it's not just me—look."

Percy followed Luna's gaze to a window set into the third storey of the house that she and Neville had built over the ruins of the Shrieking Shack. "You can see them, too?" he asked, as he watched the faint, smiling figures regarding the activities of the children with interest. "I haven't just been imagining things?"

"I can see them. Hermione and Ron don't want to intrude on our lives, you know. They're content to build up the phantom wing—and Ron flies a good bit, at night."

 _They stayed for Justine, didn't they_? Percy thought, smiling slowly. "I never thought they'd—wait. Did you say they're building? But how? I don't see any 'phantom wing'—and ghosts can't . . . alter their environments, can they?"

"'Unimaginative ghosts' can't," Luna said, "at least, that's what Hermione tells me."

"Can you see their . . . improvements?" Percy asked, feeling a bit better to know that he had not been imagining his sightings of Ron and Hermione.

"Only on Halloween, actually."

"I come here all the time. Why have they been hiding from—"

Luna stopped Percy from speaking by laying a hand on his arm. "They don't want to interfere, like I said. Well, Hermione doesn't. Ron just seems to like his privacy."

"He always did."

"And Hermione's always thought that it would be rather bad for Harry to know, so . . . ."

"Don't worry. I won't say anything. But if you were keeping Hermione and Ron's secret, why tell me about it, now?"

"I thought you were ready, now, what with recent developments."

Percy blushed.

"When will you be bringing Daphne for a visit?" Luna asked, pushing herself up with some difficulty.

"Oh. Here," Percy said, rising to his feet and reaching for Luna's outstretched hands. 

"Thanks. Well?"

"I don't . . . I mean, I haven't wanted to—"

"It's all right. I think she'd understand," Luna said softly, brushing out her skirt. "Penelope was a very practical witch. She wouldn't have liked to know that you were unhappy for so long."

"No. Unhappiness isn't practical, is it?" Percy said distractedly, watching Neville "fly" Justine around in higher and higher circles. "You're sure the cushioning charms will work?"

"I know they will. Severus taught me the spell, himself," Luna replied, slowly walking away from Percy and up the hill toward the house.

"Wait!" Percy called, flushing a bit as he realized where Luna was most likely going. "There's no reason for you to walk so far," he continued, drawing his wand and conjuring a small structure.

Luna grinned and clapped her hands. "Oh! I never even thought of that—thank you, Percy—you always know what to do!"

As Luna entered the outhouse, Percy walked a discreet distance away, feeling uncertain about the witch's estimation of him. Suddenly, he felt as though he were being watched and looked up at the window to find his brother and sister-in-law waving at him. He waved back.

"Please tell me Fleur didn't saddle my nephew with 'Bilius'," Ron said then, from just behind Percy. "Luna won't ever say. She thinks it's a lark to tease me about it."

"She's just protecting you, little brother."

"What? No! That's hideous!"

"Shush, Ron," Hermione admonished.

"H—hello," Percy said, almost shyly.

Hermione instantly looked worried. "It's all right, isn't it? We can go."

"No! No, don't. I'm . . . I'm glad. I've missed you—you might have said something."

"Percy," Ron said, "you came every day there, for a while, before Luna and Nev started building. We didn't want to make it harder for you."

"Oh, but thank you for bringing Justine," Hermione interjected. "She's so beautiful."

"She's Justine Penelope, you know," Percy told her, finding it surprisingly easy to be having a conversation with a ghost and wondering what Daphne would think about it.

"Is she? That's lovely."

"Justine Penelope Granger-Weasley," Percy added.

"Ha!"

"Fine, you were right," Ron answered Hermione, looking mildly vexed. "But what did Fleur and Bill actually name their son?" he continued, turning to Percy again and favoring him with a pleading look.

Percy laughed. "Russel Ronald, actually."

"Yeah?" Ron asked, grinning. "That's a great na—"

Ron and Hermione vanished then as Justine and Russel, being chased by Neville, came racing toward Percy.

"Come on, Uncle Percy!" shouted Justine, weaving to avoid being captured by Neville.

Percy, laughing, gave chase.

~*~

"Mummy?" Justine asked, as Harry was tucking her in later that night.

"That's my name," Harry replied, leaning down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

"Uncle Percy can talk to them, now. I saw him. The ghosts mani— mani—"

"Manifested. Really? When?"

"Manifested," Justine said, trying out the word a few more times before replying, "Uncle Neville almost chased us right through them!"

"Well, that's exciting," Harry said, feeling a pang of worry. 

Justine had been talking about "Uncle Neville and Aunt Luna's ghosts" since she was four-years-old, but only to Harry, it seemed, and Harry was not certain that Justine had figured out who, exactly, the ghosts were.

"So, does it bother you that you've never talked to them?"

"No. They watch me all the time. I know they like me. I think they're just shy—Russel and I can be very rowdy."

"Well, that's good then," Harry said, feeling relieved. "Did you have fun today?"

"Ye—es. I like going there, Mummy. Maybe you can go next time, too."

"We'll talk more about that later. Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you, Mummy," Justine murmured sleepily, thinking, _you always say that_.

Justine, however, understood her mother's reluctance to visit the place where her friends had died. She also knew, because she was a big girl, that Aunt Luna and Uncle Neville's ghosts were the ghosts of her parents. She had seen their pictures, and she was not stupid.

Chester had been rather proud of her when she had figured that out.

"You're quite correct, Chester," Justine said to her stuffed Crumple-Horned Snorkack and recalling one of their old discussions, "Mummy and Daddy might be scared if they knew I knew about my ghost parents. They might think it meant I didn't want to live here, at home, and that just wouldn't do."

Chester, of course, gazed at Justine in his usual, wisely silent manner, and she was pleased; Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, after all, were difficult to impress—no matter what Russel had to say about it.

Justine loved her cousin, but she sometimes thought he was a bit slow. He had never seen her parent ghosts.

 _Anyway_ , Justine told herself, as she dropped off to sleep, _a big girl can't live with ghosts. That would just be silly_.


End file.
